


(What a Beautiful Feeling) Human Again

by Caddaren



Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Aliases, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Emotional Manipulation, Fake disabled character, M/M, Not Beta Read, Oral Sex, Rating May Change, Unsafe Sex, alter ego
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-04-02 21:27:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4074457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caddaren/pseuds/Caddaren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bane has never had any use for an extended alias. He had chosen his name years ago and built his reputation around it. </p><p>John Blake, however, would never look at Bane the way he looked at Mr. Antonio Dorrance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Trouble Is All I Ever See

**Author's Note:**

> It has come to my attention that "Human Again" is the title of a song from Beauty and the Beast, which is quite ironic. I actually intended for the title to come from Human Again by Kodaline, not a Disney movie.

Wayne Manor was, in many minds, the measure of misplaced opulence in Gotham. The Wayne legacy was one of heartache and bitterness, certainly, but also of indulgence and waste. Bane would like to say that he didn’t understand why the city would hold such a family on a pedestal above themselves, but he knew it was not loyalty that drove this, but anticipation. When Bruce Wayne lay broken, they would cheer and stomp his image into the dirt and filth beneath their feet, crying from the long wait for his demise. Bane would cherish being the one to bring their release.

That was not to say he could not see the benefit of waiting and planning over striking without preamble. Talia was correct when she said they would have to make Wayne’s downfall thorough and indefinite. Unlike how the Commissioner Gordon had raised Harvey Dent as a paragon of his kind after the man’s death amidst an ignorant public, they would leave no salvageable trace of Wayne for Gotham to rally behind. There would be no second redemption for Wayne, no lasting cancer in the body of the city.

Talia’s plan was simple underneath numerous layers of careful subterfuge and cunning: break his spirit, then break his body. Talia would be handling the first part, and Bane the second. And after, they would clean the city from the top down, toppling long reigning regimes and replacing them with those who could be trusted to remain uncorrupt. Talia was confident that her part would be the most difficult, and Bane did not doubt her. What man had the strength to carry on after a woman such as Talia swept him off his feet, gained his trust, and then left him aching and alone? Bane, who regarded himself as the strongest of men, knew even he could not bear such a pain. Breaking Wayne’s body after such devastation would be child’s play compared to Talia’s own mission.

In order to complete her mission, Talia had to make contact early, often interacting with Wayne in public and open places before Bane trusted him. Not that he would ever trust Wayne with Talia’s safety, no more than he trusted the cops of Gotham to sufficiently keep the peace and guard the streets, nor the politicians to keep the city’s best interests at heart. Bane hated leaving her so exposed, for while he knew she could protect herself against the best of their enemies—or even his own men—the risk was too great. Since rising from the Pit, he had kept her within his sight, or at the very least within his influence, so to set her out on her own nearly incapacitated him. Her safety plagued his mind, and he feared it would always sit in the background waiting for him to idle and then hit him full force. In order not to fall into a near panic whenever Talia placed herself in a situation with too many variables, Bane kept himself working hard and meditated to calm his mind.

Some instances arose, however, where Bane found a way to keep himself at her side. Through his own insistence, Talia relented to his presence. She would be visiting Wayne manor, invited to supper by Bruce sometime earlier that week, and her plan of walking into the lion’s den so to speak without any backup was met with instant rebuttal. By refusing to let her go alone, Bane accidentally steered Talia towards a separate plan of action.

“You will be my driver,” she said, smiling up at him from her seat. Bane cocked his head to the side.

“I am not exactly inconspicuous, dear one,” he said, knowing both his size and his mask would bring him unwanted attention. They would remember him, and when he presented himself as the harbinger of the revolution her cover would be blown.

She tutted, “my driver and bodyguard, then for the streets are dangerous in Gotham and a woman certainly shouldn’t travel alone, least of all after dark.”

He raised an eyebrow but nodded his consent, willing to humour her idea if only for the chance to stand by her side throughout the evening.

“Strip,” she said, and he did without any semblance of modesty. She appraised him and he did not look away from her gaze. After her quick onceover, Talia turned on her heel and opened the bureau that held his clothes. She dressed him in nondescript black and grey, the only splash of colour the red scarf borrowed from Barsad.

“There you go,” she said, “quite the lady killer, now.” She winked, and he smiled at the playfulness behind her eyes. It felt odd to forego his usual attire, but perhaps he would blend in better. It was fall; no one would question the thickness of his clothes nor the scarf draped over his nose and covering his chin until they escaped the chilly air. He had his doubts, it was strange to join a wealthy man for dinner with a hood over one’s head, but Talia soothed his nerves when he said so.

“Nonsense, you won’t be eating with us. How could you?” He dipped his head in acquiescence. “No, you will stand on the edge of the room and watch the goings-on. Bruce Wayne is undoubtedly used to hovering presences in his home, growing up with servants and whatnot.”

Nodding, he vacated her room for her to dress. Barsad waited for him a few steps away from the door. The man’s eyes flicked over his new look, expression blank, but those eyes no longer looked bored. Bane silently dared him to comment and wasn’t left disappointed. “That’s mine.”

Bane nodded, fingers fiddling with the loose weave absently. “Talia and I will be visiting the Wayne Manor tonight. She intends to dine with him.”

Barsad remained silent as Bane moved to stand next to him, backs to the wood paneling of the penthouse. From their position, they have a vantage of the door and the living room below them; Bane could see why Barsad chose to stand there and made a note to place Talia’s guards instead of just outside her bedroom door. “The man does not know he invites the demon into his den.”

“Daughter of the demon,” Bane amended, and Barsad didn’t argue.

“And is this how you intend to blend in?”

“I did not know you to be one to ask questions with obvious answers, brother,” said Bane, amused by his usually so quiet right-hand man suddenly so inquisitive. The change of appearance must have sent the man reeling, to be fair.

Barsad huffed, just loud enough for Bane to hear it, shifting on his feet. “What will this accomplish?”

“I will be there to keep her safe. Wayne cannot be trusted.”

“It puts you at risk.”

“I am always at risk.”

“Of being discovered. If your mask is revealed, how will you explain yourself?”

Bane paused, “I will not. Killing Wayne when he is caught off guard would be effortless. It may not be the demise we hoped for him, but it will suffice.”

“Frame it as a suicide.” Bane dipped his head in agreement. “I wish to be there with you both.”

Bane studied Barsad’s profile, noting the genuine worry there, and laid his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Had the manor any neighbors on which for you to perch, I would bring you. But you are hardly useful waiting alone outside in the car, and Talia demands my presence inside. You will remain here, you have your orders. Once that is complete, sleep.”

Barsad gave him a look. Specific meditation rituals were the only thing that staved off the insomnia that plagued them both. Sometimes they did these together, in each other’s space and sharing breath, the only way they knew to support each other. Other times, solitude clung to their skin and refused to be ignored. Bane’s eyes crinkled in response, and Barsad was quick to look away. Bane’s smiles were catching, if you knew how to recognize them; the man always looked positively giddy even with his mouth hidden.

The door to Talia’s room swung inward. Bane’s hand moved from Barsad’s shoulder to rest on the vest he no longer wore. Talia laughed when his hands found not hold, and instead fell to his sides. “We should take the same car, no? Leave your helmet in Barsad’s care.” Bane nodded, meeting Barsad’s gaze for a confirmation. “We should be back in a few hours, if all goes well. If not... then sooner.”

She let Bane drape a thick shall over her shoulders, twisting her thick hair over her shoulder to keep it out of the way. Bane was struck by how beautiful she was, as he was often struck several times during the day. Talia smiled at him over her shoulder, patted the top of his hand where it hovered over her shoulder, and led him to the door.

“Do try not to miss us too badly, Barsad!” She called, and Bane looked back just in time to see the sniper roll his eyes fondly.

\--

Bane was not a man raised in any level of comfort. He couldn’t remember a part of his childhood and teenage years that weren’t filled with the Pit, and after that his years were filled with pain and an incessant, blinding light: Talia. She was the sun in his universe, the epitome of beauty and intelligence. He could scarcely think of anyone, man or woman, who could hold a candle to her. In many ways, Talia was his measure of all things good in the world.

Compared to her, Wayne Manor’s décor paled. He had no interest in its looks without Talia in the picture, and had she not been there, he would not have paused in the slightest. However, she was the one to lead him to the front door and with her arm wrapped around his, Bane could sweep his eyes over the exterior of the ancient house and appreciate the painstaking detail of the structure. There were too many windows to be easily defensible without numerous outside deterrents, but with the sunset casting a warm reflection upon the glass, Bane knew that hardly mattered to its occupants and original inhabitants. The Manor was a display of wealth and power; not meant to be practical.

“On your best manners,” she said, reaching up to adjust his scarf with a gentle hand. He still needed the mask to pump Venom into his brain, but had switched his “battle mask” as Barsad called it to something easier to hide beneath his scarf. He would even be able to bear his head once then were sheltered in the building, hopefully easing the curiosity of whomever joined them for dinner. Bruce Wayne’s one-percenter manners might keep from asking rude questions, but Talia had failed to mention if this was meant to be a private affair. She had brought him as a guest, after all, who knew how many were invited to attend.

It was only Bane’s enhanced hearing that allowed him to pick up on a scuffle of footsteps from further inside after they ran the bell. From the sound of it, someone was hurrying from one of the inner rooms towards the entrance. Subconsciously, he started to angle his body in front of Talia’s to protect her. It was only her hand patting his arm that stopped the movement before it was obvious. Talia showed no reaction to the voices inside, making Bane listen with more intent, looking for clues.

“Master Blake-” It was an older man with an accent.

“Alfred, don’t be silly and go back to the kitchen. You’re covered in potato peels.” Well, wasn’t that a beautiful voice. Within it he could hear the underbelly of Gotham, an underlying New Jersey accent, and absolutely no traces of another fluent language.

“Your apron, Master Blake.”

“I got it, I got it. Now shoo, before you bring shame upon the household.” There was mirth in the second voice, which sounded surprisingly youthful and uncultured. His curiosity was peaked.

The great door groaned and swung inward, revealing a pale young man wearing casual slacks, a blue sweater and a guarded expression. Upon recognition of Talia, however, the man’s face bloomed into polite curiosity. Those large dark eyes swept over them both, purposefully not lingering on Bane’s covered face. “Ms. Tate, what a pleasant surprise. Come on in.” This was hardly a butler, Bane knew. Even without the research revealing Bruce Wayne’s butler to be an older British gentleman, the young man was too easy-going to be a trained professional. The real butler must have been the older man who had protested his opening the door in the first place.

The young man pushed the door closed behind their backs, a swath of thick fabric tucked over his arm. “Officer Blake, I didn’t expect to see you here,” said Talia, lifting her hand. The man—Officer Blake—quickly moved to shake it in greeting.

“Right back at you, honestly. Bruce didn’t tell us he had invited guests. It must have slipped his mind.” Blake’s words swept away any worries of it being a large social event, but Bane wondered his appearance would still be remarked upon.

Blake turned to Bane expectantly, interest taking the place of confusion. “Oh, forgive me,” said Talia, gesturing between them, “Officer John Blake, this is Antonio Dorrance, a close friend of mine who’s taken an interest in Gotham’s economic landscape just recently.” Blake didn’t hesitate to take Bane’s hand as he did Talia’s, apparently not caring that Bane’s own dwarfed his in size. His hand was cold and Bane could smell hand soap in the air, along with a roasted spiciness that followed him from down the hall.  

“Alfred and I were just in the middle of finishing up dinner, sorry for the wait.”

“Not at all,” said Talia, and Blake took that as permission to lead them away from the door. Bane was slightly offended the young man did not offer to remove Talia’s coat, as was proper, but also relieved he had not moved to do so without her explicit permission.

The hall was long and warmly lit, walls a calm beige with accents of red and brown. The decorations were antique, but made Bane feel like he was in a museum more than he was walking through someone’s home. Large houses tended to feel impersonal, Bane mused.

“Feel free to wait in here, I just need to tell Alfred and Bruce you’re here. Sorry again,” said Blake, ducking out of the room at Talia’s nod. It was some sort of sitting room, perhaps meant for tea. Neither of them sat, Bane choosing to stand by the window and look out over the grounds with his ears trained on the doorway, Talia roaming from painting to painting with shallow interest. They had viewed fine works of art before, it hardly mattered to them by now.

One policeman was hardly important to him, but Bane found himself asking, “Who is John Blake?”

“He works for Gotham’s Police Department. From what I understand, Commissioner Gordon holds him in extremely high regard, as does Bruce Wayne.” It wasn’t nearly as much information as he wanted on the man, if he was going to be spending the evening in Talia’s company. He obviously couldn’t be trusted, and Bane did not fear defeat by his hand, but he hated unknown variables. Bane made a mental note to have Barsad look into the young officer at once. Perhaps he would prove to be interesting, prove to be corruptible and manipulated. Anyone close to Wayne’s heart could potentially be used to their advantage against the man behind the mask.

Before he inquire further, interior monitoring system be damned, he heard a light tapping of shoes against the polished floor of the hallway. Talia heard it too, and angled herself to watch the doorway. Bane did not turn. “Ms. Tate, forgive my tardiness. Welcome to Wayne Manor,” Bane heard Wayne say, and the man moved to kiss Talia on both cheeks like an old friend. The false charm slithered into Bane’s blood like an early morning chill and left him on edge.  

“Thank you for inviting me, Mr. Wayne. Allow me to introduce you to an old friend of mine, Antonio Dorrance.”

“Mr. Dorrance,” Wayne said, and Bane turned and shook the man’s hand. He said nothing in return, but he did incline his head as a gesture of respect. Talia made no excuse for his silence, and Wayne did not ask for one. “We’ll be eating in the dining room,” said Wayne, leading Talia away by her elbow with Bane trailing behind them.

The real butler, Alfred, was finishing setting the table with Officer Blake when they took their seats. Alfred seemed uninclined to join them, but Wayne insisted he sit along with Officer Blake, who grinned and left Bane momentarily blinded. He couldn’t look away, even as the young man sat down on Talia’s right.

Halfway through the first course, after Wayne had gone through the motions of asking about Talia’s—known to him as Miranda Tate—affairs and displaying the correct amount of interest, Wayne turned his attention to bane. “So, what business brings you to Gotham, Mr. Dorrance?” Bane swept his eyes away from plate in front of him which remained empty for obvious reasons since the beginning of the meal.

Talia stepped in to speak for him. “I’m afraid Antonio isn’t much of a conversationalist, if you’ll forgive him. He was dying to see the Manor and meet your acquaintance, so I brought him along despite the… obvious inconveniences of his condition.” Wayne dismissed the apology and inquired again, this time expecting Talia—Miranda—to answer in his stead. She was a smooth liar, the answers not stilted from practice but confident in the way truth sounded. Inwardly, Bane applauded her acting excellence, once again reassured of her part in Wayne’s demise. Outwardly, he watched her with rapt attention befitting a mute lent the voice of an angel. She spoke beautifully, and Wayne seemed satisfied with her answers, moving the weight of the conversation away from Bane’s speechless shoulders.

When his attention shifted, no longer completely distracted by her conversation with Wayne, he slipped his eyes over to find Blake and Alfred trading quiet conversation as well. Awkwardly, he found himself stuck between the two bubbles, floating in a limbo of sorts. Blake caught his eye and offered a grin. Bane understood it as an invite into their conversation—even without a voice to participate—when Blake kept looking between he and Alfred, who sat across from Blake and on Bane’s right.

“So, Mr. Dorrance, do you sign?”

Bane was surprised by the question, and noticed Talia and Wayne watching him for his response. He nodded, confident in his passing knowledge of Cuban sign language which was similar to its American origins. He raised his hands from the table and simply signed ‘hello.’

“Ah, one of the boys at the orphanage is deaf. He can read lips, but that’s not exactly foolproof. Everyone learned a bit for him, and those closer to him are still taking lessons from him,” said Blake, signing every third word now that he knew Bane would understand and—if Bane was humouring himself—might feel more included. It was a sweet thought, a useless one, of course, but it was not lost on Bane.

Bane answered with his hands, “I learned to sign in Cuba,” which was not a lie. The others, who could not follow his side of the conversation, drifted away. Talia brought up the state of the city’s park, which apparently Alfred was incredibly concerned with. Something about the young children and how Bruce used to visit them as a child as well. Bane didn’t care enough to listen in. Blake, however, gave his full attention to Bane.

His brow furrowed slightly, making his ears stick out even more from the sides of his head. Bane would have stared in slight amusement but the man’s hands repeated the movements for “Cuba” back at him. It was the one word Blake did not understand, and Bane had no way of telling him. He switched to “home” and watched understanding light Blake’s face.

“Where you’re from?” Blake dropped the pretense of speaking, instead relying solely on his hands. Bane wondered at how much effort the officer put in to learning ASL for some orphan boy. Bane tilted his head and watched Blake look over his scarf, clearly curious. Blake signed again, “Spanish?”

Bane nodded once, wishing he could simply speak instead of holding up this silly pretense. He was used to remaining silent until need; he was not used to remaining silent when the need to speak arose. Bane, previously in charge of an army and the second-in-command to Talia’s own forces, was reduced to shifting his fingers in order to get his point across. It had been a while since any of his conversations had felt so intimate.

Blake must have missed Talia asking Bruce to lead her on a tour because the young man startled when she rose. Bane rose at once, as was proper, and Talia smiled at him. “I trust I leave Mr. Dorrance in good hands?”

Blake, to Bane’s shock, flushed from his neck to his ears. “Of course, Ms. Tate. I’ll try my best not to bore him.”

Talia laid her hand on Bane’s shoulder before she linked her arm with Bruce and left them in the dining room, Alfred already clearing the table. Blake refused to meet his eyes as he moved to help, and Bane figured it couldn’t hurt to follow his example. Alfred was startled when he brought dirty dishes into the kitchen, put-off by a guest doing any sort of work, but Blake ignored him and took the plates from Bane’s hands with a grateful smile. “Shoo, Master Blake, before I kick you out of my kitchen with brute force.”

Blake laughed, and Bane was struck with appreciation that he wasn’t actually deaf or mute. Either would be a major disappointment when in the young man’s company. “Alright, alright, Ms. Tate said you wished to see the grounds, Mr. Dorrance. Is there anywhere you would like to see?”

Bane paused, marveled at how willing the Manor’s occupants were to let potential enemies into their base of operations. Bane knew somewhere in the house was a secret path that led to Batman’s lair underneath the mansion, but his information was not complete enough to know in what exact room it sat.  “The library,” he signed, and Blake’s face lit up.

“One of my favourite rooms,” he said, no longer signing now that they did not have to compete with other conversation. “Although, to be fair I haven’t exactly spent much time here.”

They had very little information on Blake, nothing beyond the basics. As Talia had said, he was a mere officer who happened to have Gordon’s friendship for one reason or another. Bane wanted to know why Blake was in Wayne’s home, so he asked.

Blake laughed, “It does seem weird, doesn’t it? I aged out of St. Swithin’s four years ago and had nowhere to go except backwards. I resorted to hustling to get by, and eventually I got caught. Bruce Wayne must have heard about me from someone, somewhere, maybe Father Reilly, because he’s the sponsor of Swithin’s. Three years ago, Bruce Wayne legally adopted me, and I’ve been part of the family ever since.” At Bane’s raised eyebrow, which Blake clearly stared at for a few seconds, the man’s words began to stumble. “It’s weird to be adopted when you’re already an adult, I know, and I didn’t think I would come to rely on them so much but—it’s good, for me, and for Bruce too, I think. Sorry, am I talking too much? Shit, sorry, um, feel free to look around the library at all the… books.”

Blake seemed to be a wealth of personal knowledge of Bruce, if a bit rough around the edges. Bane sensed a need for acknowledgement in Blake that was typical of orphans or under-nurtured children. They could utilize this, if Bane played his cards right. Perhaps Talia could get close to both Wayne and Blake and turn them against each other, crushing them further. A means to an end is all he saw of Blake now, despite the young man’s innocent enthusiasm and pretty voice. They had no use for either of those qualities except to abuse them. Bane smiled secretly behind his scarf, and watched Blake watching him.

“No,” he signed, and knew he had Blake on the edge of his seat, if a bit wary, “I like listening to you talk.” Even if Blake didn’t follow the entire sentence, Bane knew the message would have the same effect. Blake flushed again, the tips of his ears flooding with red, and he smiled at his feet, almost shy. Yes, Officer Blake would be easy to manipulate, if Bane’s assumptions were correct.

“How did you become a cop?” Bane signed, and Blake’s face was overtaken with honest excitement. Bane followed the entire story, feigning interest at certain parts, and shockingly found himself paying genuine attention to others. It was effortless to guide Blake into stream after stream of conversation until the young man had talked for hours and Wayne had come looking for them with Talia on his arm. And if Wayne’s cheek had a smudge of lipstick on it where he forgot to wipe it away, Bane, surprisingly, didn’t notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify, Bane written here is a mix of movie Bane and DCU Bane. He is addicted to Venom, not some sort of analgesic, and needs a regular dose (I believe it's every 12 hours in canon) or else he would suffer debilitating withdrawals. His mask, if you look up DCU Bane, is more a wrestlers mask than a metal muzzle. I choose to think the metal is combined with the mask to keep his Venom supply more protected (it enters the back of his skull through tubes) but is not necessary, therefore he can chose to forego it, as in this chapter, and has the potential to form a secret identity. I chose Antonio Dorrance as his alias because his father's name was Sir Edmund Dorrance, and Antonio is a nice sounding name. If you have any other questions, ask away!


	2. Trouble Hanging Over Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any and all syntax errors are mine, I'm sorry to say. I also don't usually reread after I write.

“Sister says you made quite the impression,” said Barsad, not two days after Bane had dropped Talia off at her penthouse apartment and returned to the sewers with his brother.

“A young cop named John Blake, he proved easy to manipulate,” said Bane, not pausing in his work. Maps of Gotham lay in front of him, every slight variation between levels and sub-levels of the city studied meticulously over and over.

“She said he was quite swept away by your charm,” said Barsad, clearing teasing Bane for his own amusement. He sounded much younger when he spoke like this, as if they were still in training for the league and Barsad had just watched Bane being thrown on his back by a better, more experienced fighter. Bane held that voice close to his heart, although he would never let it show.

“He is young, and attracted to older male authority figures if I am correct,” said Bane, and he could hear Barsad tense slightly with a shift of clothing.

“And you intend to use this to your advantage,” said Barsad, but Bane could not read his tone. Bane turned to him, knowing Barsad well enough to read his expression and his posture even when his brother’s face was blank.

“Does this bother you?” There are many reasons it could, Bane knew, given how close they were and how they usually left the espionage to Talia alone. Neither of them were quite suited to undercover work as she was, given their looks and their dispositions.

“No, do what you must,” said Barsad, and Bane believed him. The mission came first, they both knew that. If Barsad was trivial enough to let a means to an end, which is all Blake was and they both knew it, upset him, Bane would not have welcomed him as such a close brother. A brother, nonetheless, but not his second-in-command and sometimes lover, when the urge arose in them both. He doubted they would embrace each other again before their mission was complete and they were both dead, but Bane was glad he had not troubled Barsad either way. It was good to have him so close.

“I will be careful, brother,” said Bane, and Barsad nodded, the conversation dropped.

\--

“He asked about you,” said Talia, upon him entering her apartment building with Barsad at his side. She had gone to see Wayne the night before, three days after the dinner he joined in her in, and apparently Blake had been there again.

Next to him, Barsad silently moved to the kitchen to make tea, as was custom. Bane watched his shoulders move beneath his coat, thinking idly on her words. When it was clear she desired a response, he turned his head to her. “As I expected.”

That did not satisfy her, and she pushed. “You made quite an impression.”

He nodded and said, “Barsad said so. I don’t know how I feel about you two speaking behind my back,” he joked, clearing teasing lightly. Barsad turned his head to give him a wink over his shoulder, making Bane snort.

Talia leaned back, inviting him to sit on the couch next to her. She leaned against him, gently running her fingers up and down his arm. Bane hardly minded. “You’re going to break his poor little heart,” she said, but Bane could hear the glee in her words.

“If that is what’s necessary,” said Bane, then thanked Barsad for the tea. Talia reached up to unclasp his mask from the back of his head, and he leaned forward to allow her. Barsad watched, as he always did, before kneeling beside the coffee table to pour them their own cups. It was Bane’s turn to watch him, unabashed, as the mask slipped from his head and into his waiting palms. Bane set it aside and took his tea graciously, blowing to cool it as Talia did the same to her own.

“He told you how Bruce adopted him, did he not? Such a tragic story, orphaned at twelve when his parents died in an orchestrated accident. Since Batman was the one to track down his killers, it’s safe to assume Blake knows Bruce is behind the mask. They may even be working together now, despite the Batman’s public disappearance.”

“It is strange how Bruce let him suffer on the streets before saving him from the under-city,” said Bane, pondering.

“Childish misconceptions, no doubt,” said Talia, dismissing the notion quickly. “Bruce believed the city would be forgiving on a young boy, and he didn’t realize his mistake until the boy was caught.”

“And now Blake is forever thankful, instead of knowing he was abandoned by his hero as well.”

“He will be abandoned once again when we break Bruce. His involvement with the Wayne estate does complicate things, however. Should Bruce be proclaimed dead, all of the family’s assets will fall to Blake instead of the board unless Bruce’s will states otherwise, which is doubtful.”

Barsad, still kneeling on the floor, eyed them both over the rim of his cup. Bane met his gaze evenly, willing the man to tell him what was on his mind. Barsad did not, looking back to Talia before Bane could call him on it.

“I will find out what Blake intends to do with his inheritance,” said Bane. Already his mind was alight with possibilities. Spying might not be his forte, but he had done it a few times before and performed extremely well.

“And I will take root in Bruce’s mind until the only thing he can think of is me.”

“You are truly terrifying, sister,” said Bane, and Barsad nodded in agreement.

Talia grinned, the lights in her eyes, the ones that captivated Bane from the very beginning, danced with mirth. “It is what I aim for.”

\--

Dagget called for him a few days later and Bane ignored him, for the most part, sending a few of his men to assure the sniveling weasel that all was going according to plan and good things come to those who wait. Whether or not the man believed his words and stopped pestering him remained to be seen.

Talia had told him she planned on throwing another ball for fundraising, but Bane did not know to what end. The League supplied them with whatever resources they may need, and as the leader Talia could simply take the funds she desired. Benefactors from all over the world financed them, their pool was indefinite and unlimited. Even Bane had no knowledge of where it ended, and he doubted Talia cared enough to check as long as the funds were available to them. They were slowly stockpiling supplies in the sewers for when they blew the bridges and cut off the outside world. It was a slow and careful process if they wanted to avoid suspicion, but Bane was patient.

Talia, apparently, was not. “I want you there with me, Barsad as well.”

Bane didn’t hesitate to stomp her plan under his heel. “Absolutely not. There were be too many people, too many-”

“Unknown factors, yes I know, Bane,” said Talia, rolling her eyes.

“Then you know the risk we run by inviting Wayne into our personal circle. I insist you reconsider,” said Bane.

Talia glared at him, something she had been doing for years only know it felt more powerful than ever before. He shuddered to think being her enemy, and all at once his defenses began crumbling. Somehow, maybe he could make it work.

“Sister,” said Barsad, stepping into the room and looking between them, “I may have a solution.”

“Speak,” said Talia, motioning for him to continue before turning towards the window to look out over the city.

“Host your benefit,” said Barsad, and Bane frowned at him, “but bring Bane to the police banquet instead. It will be a slightly smaller affair, with enough unknown faces that people will quickly forget our entrance. I will remain in the shadows, Bane can linger where he wish until his opportunity strikes.”

Bane still didn’t like the idea of going out into public. Years of hunting and fighting had taught him he had no place in the light, least of all in the company of the wealthy. This was Talia’s forte, not his, and the notion of dressing up and playing nice with the people he despised make his insides churn in a way they had not in years—there had been a particularly nasty operation in West Africa a few years ago in which he had almost lost Barsad to blood poisoning, which he would never forget or forgive himself for accepting, that had made his blood run cold whenever he thought about it. Even now he had to look over Barsad where he stood, healthy and completely intact, to remind himself it was over.

“What an excellent idea, brother. Gordon is sure to make sure Blake attends, and Bane can snatch him up when he’s alone.”

Bane slipped Barsad a warning look before the man could add anything; the sniper had already done enough damage. “No one knows your face, and there are plenty of big men in Gotham for them to not think twice on your frame.”

At this Bane raised an eyebrow, and he definitely caught the way Barsad’s shoulders shook on the other side of the room even if he didn’t call him on it. “Talia,” said Bane, cautious, “we are toeing a fine line. It will be very dangerous.”

“We will have Barsad there as backup, and I do not doubt your ability to fight your way through the entire crowd should things go wrong,” said Talia, smiling brightly in his direction. She came close to place her hands on his arms, urging him in her blinding and innocent way. He didn’t dare raise a hand to touch her face, as he wished to, instead warring with himself in his mind.

Talia, for all her intelligence and ferocity, placed herself at so much risk without worthwhile gain. Should they be discovered, her cover as Miranda Tate would possibly be blown and her safety would be compromised. Without her as Ms. Tate to corrupt and overtake Wayne Enterprises, they would have to drastically alter their plan. They didn’t yet know where the fusion reactor was located, even if they could forcefully scour the entire city it would take months, if not years, with nothing to go upon. They could wait it out, of that he had no doubt, but Talia herself was not a woman of waiting. She wanted immediate results, and immediate action at the very least. The only reason she accepted their current plan—which had already taken several years and would take at least until winter came—was because she had a primary part to play. In her impatience, she displayed her youth, a flaw Bane did not share but did his best to accommodate and still gain results.

He dipped his head in acquiescence, and Talia’s expression grew even brighter, her fingers squeezing on his arms in excitement. “This is going to be so much fun,” said Talia, laughing as she let go of him and twirled away, “I can’t wait to see the betrayal on his face.”

Bane loved her, and because of this he didn’t have the heart to ask which one of them she meant. Wayne was their target, of course, which left Blake as a tool to use to get closer to their target. Still, something about the new side operation had Bane feeling a bit out of sorts. He chalked it up to worry for her safety. Blake couldn’t pose a threat to her physically, Bane had trained alongside her and knew of her skill against men even his size, but should he rally a force…

Bane chose to kick himself out of that trail of thought immediately, knowing there was no benefit to overthinking it. If Blake hurt her, Bane would kill him. Slowly and painfully, if that was what she asked of him, but the police officer would die at the end of their mission regardless.

\--

The police banquet was exactly what Bane expected it to be. The room felt stuffy despite the open windows and breeze rolling in from the Wayne gardens, and the lights were—thankfully—dim enough to promote a false sense of allure. Bane hated all of it, from the presumptuous guests to the wasteful opulence.

“Oh hush,” said Talia, despite the fact Bane was not speaking, and patted his arm. “Grab a drink and stick to the gardens, I’ll make sure Blake makes his way to you eventually.” And then she left his side, and he struggled not to watch her go. He told Barsad to keep eyes on her at all times, but sometimes his second decided his own ideas were better. Point and case being how Bane was now wearing a suit in place of his normal vest and cargo pants. He missed the heavy weight to rest his hands on, if he was being honest with himself, but reminded himself that it was only for the evening. Earlier, no matter how much Barsad had tried to tease and redirect their attention, he had gotten to see Barsad in his own formal attire and that made the evening well worth it. As was the irritated timidity Bane pulled out of the man when he stroked his fingers down the back of his neck and hummed his appreciate for the new look. Barsad, for someone with an impenetrable poker face, was easy to disarm if you knew how to play your own cards.

Grabbing a glass of champagne that he wouldn’t drinking unless he somehow found a straw or an empty room, Bane let the crowd part for him and swallow his presence without anything more than a curious glance. Talia hadn’t lied when she said there would be large men attending, and he was thankful for the animosity his scarf brought along with the usual wariness. Had he been any other kind of man, Bane would have utilized the mystery of his image. Instead, he fled the populated areas and found a nice secluded path in the gardens, as Talia had suggested. He did not have to wait long.

Blake looked as young and eager as Bane remember from the week before, but more professional in his police uniform and dress shoes. Bane wasn’t surprised that the boy could clean up nice, but he was surprised to see the boy looking as uncomfortable as he. Perhaps, Talia had not sent him, and the young man had simply escaped the party for his own benefit. He watched Blake walk by his location, choosing not to draw his attention but not actively trying to hide. It didn’t take long for him to give up waiting and follow him, mindful of the persona he had adopted when dealing with the young detective.

Staring out over the gardens of his adoptive home, Blake struck an interesting picture. He looked far too young and naïve to be working on any police force, Bane admitted to himself, but also strangely radiant. Bane wasn’t used to seeing such potential in everyday people. Idly, he pondered the idea of Blake as a recruit in the League, then brushed the mindless thought away. When he was a few feet away, he purposefully scuffed his feet to alert the young officer to his presence, and was treated to Blake startling a good foot into the air. Behind his scarf, Bane smirked.

“Mr. Dorrance,” said Blake, flushing in embarrassment, “I didn’t hear you… or see you… Are you here to escape the party as well?” When Bane didn’t answer immediately, the man babbled, forcing Bane to wait for a pause. “Not that, you know, I’m running away from the party. I’m a cop, I don’t run away from things, let me tell you now. My job is to—not run away, from things, I mean. Least of all parties. I’m just… getting some fresh air.”

“I am getting fresh air too,” signed Bane, withholding a chuckle. No matter what Talia said about the young officer, he was amusing when he squirmed in his own shoes.

Blake must have taken it as a teasing response because he blushed harder before turning away. He leaned on the railing in front of him, getting dirt on the front of his pants from the rough stone. He didn’t seem to notice, or maybe care. Bane took it into account, curious if it was because he wasn’t used to minding his costly attire or had gotten used to Wayne provided whatever he needed without delay.

Bane signed, and Blake only noticed his hands moving halfway through it. Brushing aside the apology, Bane repeated the sequence. “You are uncomfortable,” he signed, and it was not a question.

“Ah, um… Yeah, I don’t do well with crowds. Or manners, really. There’s always something proper that I forget and it makes me feel… out of place,” said Blake, not bothering with signing just yet. Bane wondered if he would.

“You do not belong,” signed Bane, and saw the exact second when Blake took it the wrong way. Bane figured a man of Blake upbringing would be expectant of social contempt and judgement from his new peers, given how he was just recently thrust into the world of the wealthy. The anger that coloured Blake’s face told Bane he had assumed correctly.

“Yeah, I know that,” Blake snapped, and turned as if to leave.

Bane didn’t even register reaching out to stop him until his hand was on the young man’s wrist. It took less than a second for them both to react, Blake by twisting his hand away, and Bane letting him. He had the young man’s attention, however guarded his expression, and took advantage of it. “Not a bad thing,” Bane signed, thinking carefully on his next words and letting Blake wait in anticipation. “I understand. I do not belong either.”

Ten years ago, the words would hurt Bane with their truth. Now, he had Barsad and Talia, no matter how irregular their relationship, and the League. He was not alone, and he refused to say he still felt out of his element sometimes. It was Bane’s job to adapt, whether it be fighting technique or social mongering. However, his diction had the desired effect on Blake, who shed the tension in his shoulders like water released from a dam.

“Sorry,” said Blake, and Bane was strangely pleased to see his hands move with the sign equivalent. “I’m a little tense right now.”

Bane waved a hand, signaling Blake to think nothing of it. He then gestured to where he had been sitting on a bench nearby, and Blake followed him over. They sat next to each other, Bane choosing to ignore Blake’s blatant staring at his profile. His scarf covered everything below the bridge of his nose; he did not fear scrutiny from this man.

A few minutes passed before Blake seemed to grow impatient with himself, and then he spoke softly, as if afraid someone might overhear and misunderstand. “I’ve never meant anyone like you,” said Blake, and Bane glanced over at him in response. Along came the babbling, “not like, because you can’t speak, I just meant-”

“My appearance?” Bane signed, knowing it was the most likely option. He hadn’t lied when he told Talia that Blake was probably attracted to older men, most likely in positions of power. Bane’s physical stature aided him in this operation as it often had in battles his whole life. Only now it was a battle of seduction, something much safer.

Blake surprised him, however, when he signed “no” and then paused, seeming to gather himself. “I know nothing about you,” signed Blake, giving up the pretense of talking, which touched Bane in a secluded part of his mind, “but I would like to.”

“You find me attractive,” Bane signed, just to cut to the point and definitely not to watch Blake furiously blush again.

“I, uh,” said Blake, eloquent as ever, and Bane couldn’t help it: he laughed. Blake stared at him, apparently marveled by the low sound. Blake did not seem insulted, this time apparently trusting Bane not to hurt him.

“I find you attractive as well,” signed Bane, and the blushed decided to extend its stay on Blake’s face. It wasn’t a lie, because even when he could afford no distractions Bane could acknowledge the beauty of things, including people. Blake was slender and breakable, like many Bane had seen and even taken to bed, but that did not mean Bane wanted to actively fuck him. Should his alias require of him, Bane would certainly not shy away from the task, but he hoped to avoid it. Lying to this man, despite his advantageous connections to Wayne, and bringing him to bed under such lies was not something Bane would relish in.

“Thank you,” signed Blake, and Bane couldn’t help but smile. The man was not pompous where he could be. Perhaps he was simply modest, or he did not truly know his own beauty. Bane could use this to his advantage by bathing him in honest compliments.

“You are attractive,” Bane signed, and Blake laughed, an explosive sound that startled the birds that had perched in the branches above them. Blake didn’t notice, instead trying to find something to look at that wasn’t Bane staring at him. The tables had turned, but Blake had no scarf to hide his grin behind.

“Thank you,” said Blake, but this time he whispered it, his hands still. “You are attractive as well,” he said, lifting his hand and going to touch Bane’s knee before becoming aware of himself. He pulled his hand back, but Bane pressed this opening, as he was trained. Blake’s homosexuality was a weakness for Bane to twist against him. He let his legs fall open, straining the crotch of his pants by brushing his thigh against Blake’s. Blake stared down at their legs, but did not move away or say anything. Bane could only think of how giddy Talia would be to see him so manipulated and maneuvered into place, as Bane had promised.

They sat in silence for a while, Bane aware of each invasion of space and how hyper-aware Blake must be himself. He could still hear the young man’s heart, it had been beating quickly since Bane had first startled him. It was slightly flattering, even if Bane knew Blake was only flustered by Antonio Dorrance, not Bane as himself.

“I am sorry you are uncomfortable,” Bane signed, figuring it was a safe tangent to stick to. Blake clung to it, undoubtedly to save himself from further embarrassment over how attracted to each other they were.

“Oh it’s fine,” he said, signing along with the words, “I’ve calmed down a bit since I came out here.” Bane knew it was a lie, still listening to the man’s heart skip and dance, but took it for what it was. “I just wish all events had gardens like these.”

“You go to more?” Bane asked, and Blake shrugged a bit.

“When Bruce thinks it appropriate, he asks if I’d like to accompany him. Technically, I _am_ a Wayne now, so it’s only fitting I get involved… I hardly ever say no to him.”

“Such loyalty,” Bane signed, and Blake grinned at the sarcasm.

“What about you?” He asked, leading the conversation away from his relationship with Wayne. Bane didn’t fight it, always eager to talk about Talia—Miranda.

“If she asks,” he signed.

“Ah, Ms. Tate. She said you were close friends.”

“Very close friends,” Bane admitted, then paused. “I have known her since she was very young,” he signed, figuring it couldn’t hurt to reveal a bit. If he gave Blake honesty, however vague, he could expect it in return, no doubt. Time would prove him right or wrong, should this ruse last.

“And she invites you to these events,” Blake signed, and Bane nodded. “Then I should see you around again?”

Bane took a moment to assess the situation, mind moving a mile a minute. It was obvious Officer Blake was hoping to speak with him again, perhaps progress their relationship. If the man didn’t enjoy social gatherings such as this, it would provide the perfect landscape for getting him alone and comfortable… Thankfully Barsad wasn’t around, the man would have never let him get away with that thought.

“Your phone,” signed Bane, taking a leap.

It proved beneficial, Blake scrambling to dig his cellphone out of his pocket before he asked, “are you sure?”

Bane smirked at him, creating a new contact and entering his own number in to the field. His was a burner phone, of no consequence should Wayne run the number through a recognition software, so he didn’t hesitate to share it. When he handed the phone back to Blake, the young man groaned at the contact name.

“Mr. Dorrance,” he read aloud, and Bane stood, smirking down at him before gently touching his thumb just below his ear and ghosting his palm along the edge of his neck. The contact worked as he hoped, reducing Blake to a weak-limbed and speechless mess. Bane ignored how the young man’s eyes went black, dilated to an unprecedented degree and making him look much younger. The flush was back in full force, but Bane questioned shame as its origins. He left Blake there, unraveled and leaning into his hand, and did not offer a goodbye as he made his way back into the party. He had done his job for the night, now it was time to check in with Talia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's keep an eye on Barsad, yes? That might be a good idea ;)


	3. I Don't Even Recognize

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to have this chapter up three days ago; sorry for the delay. I've been volunteering at the local elementary school and that's both time-consuming and exhausting (and really fucking fun, which I didn't expect) so I didn't have the time to just sit down and write for a few hours until tonight (I say casually, as if I wasn't supposed to be in bed two hours ago).

It didn’t strike Bane how very little he used his burner phone until Blake texted him the first time. It was a few days after the banquet, a waiting period that Bane didn’t know was purposeful or not, and Blake had obviously mulled over his choices for quite a while before sending it. Bane humoured the mental image of Blake worry over his message, typing and deleting and retyping, before actual flipping his phone open and reading the message.

“Hey, it’s Blake” was all it said. Bane nearly barked a laugh. The man had kept them on a last name basis, which Bane could only lend to the contact name he had given himself in Blake phone three nights ago. While he could appreciate the brevity, Bane was now at a loss of how to respond. There was nothing substantial to write back, other than a confirmation of his receiving the message. Was he to feign happiness at the contact, was the wait long enough that Bane was supposed to be enthusiastic that his direct approach to giving the man his number had worked?

He tried to think of his next plan of action and anti-climatically drew a blank. Bane had no experience in areas of romance beyond a hurried tryst or two, and his longstanding complex relationship with Barsad. Neither would help him woo Blake, considering the parameters he had to work with. Thinking back on how Barsad and he had interacted when they first met only brought forth memories of sparring and bruising and arguing, and then sparring shifted to digging nails and thrusting against thighs and bare skin rasped raw by training mats. When missions started aggression eventually gave way to slow and tender care of wounds obtain in battle, treated with soft, firm, lingering hands, and as their youth left them and they aged together, they kept sharing each other’s space and reading each other’s minds. He could use none of this experience with Blake, and reminiscing did nothing but make him want to track Barsad down and run his hands over hard angles and scars just to steady himself in reality.

As the minutes ticked by and Bane was aware his window of acceptable response time came and went, Bane tracked down Barsad. The man eyed him with curiosity when he shoved his phone at him, forcing him to take it. Bane refused to look away despite the embarrassment that covered his face—how could he not know how to do something so simple, surely people would laugh if that knew. One of the world’s fiercest mercenaries couldn’t even text their romantic interest. Or whatever Talia expected Blake to be for Bane.

Barsad, however, looked over his face with a scrutiny Bane had no seen directed at him in years. “You do not know how to respond,” said Barsad, and Bane knew it wasn’t a question. He glared at Barsad, daring him to mock, but Barsad only shrugged and started typing for him. Bane watched with rapt attention as nimble fingers flew over keys faster than Bane could keep track of. Barsad tossed the phone back to him but didn’t leave. Instead, he turned back to his work and continued where he left off. Bane realized this is what he often did when someone entered his own office, but he had never been dismissed in such a familiar way. It left him almost gaping at Barsad, looking between him and the phone in his hands.

“You could have just asked,” said Barsad, glancing over at him with a fond look in his eyes. “You’re in a new situation, it would be unfair of us to expect you to master everything instantly.” Bane was not surprised Barsad helped him, but he was surprised the man didn’t poke fun. Perhaps sometimes he still underestimated the man’s maturity. “Though I’m shocked you stressed so much, is this the mission talking or your dick?”

Bane cuffed him on the back of the head out of habit, and Barsad knocked his hand away just to let Bane know he had only hit him because he was allowed. Bane smiled at that, leaning against Barsad’s desk and looking over his work. While Bane primarily dealt with Daggett and his construction crews, Barsad managed the new workers they had started bringing in from the streets. Commonly employing young kids who could do moderate manual labour without asking too many questions or demanding too much money in return—unlike Daggett’s men—Barsad had his hands full providing them housing and basic living conditions, as well as keeping the adults from trying to throw their weight around. Neither Bane nor Barsad tolerated abuse of any kind on children, and thus Bane trusted Barsad to run a strict operation. It was a relief to have a man as capable and respected as Barsad as his second, Bane acknowledged.

He trailed his fingers through Barsad’s hair, the same comforting gesture he had been doing since the first time Barsad had leaned against his side and smothered his pained sobs into his shoulder all those years ago, and Barsad glanced up at him in surprise. Before he could say anything, they both heard Bane’s phone buzz in his pocket. Barsad held his hand out expectantly and Bane gave it to him without even looking at Blake’s response. He still didn’t know what Barsad had said in his place the first time, but it didn’t bother him. He trusted Barsad in this, just as he trusted Barsad in any other mission.

It carried on this way for an hour or so before Barsad handed his phone back to him. “He’s gone to bed,” said Barsad, and only then did Bane realize the hour, “he has an early shift in the morning so don’t bother him again until he texts you after work…I told him to do so.” Bane nodded, now slightly curious as to what the conversation entailed. Towards the end, Barsad was replying almost instantly when the phone buzzed, and Blake’s responses seemed similarly quick.

Bane turned to go, touching his hand to the back of Barsad’s shoulders as he passed behind him. Barsad called out to him before he could leave the doorway. “Learn how to talk to him,” he said, not looking at Bane, “treat him nicely.”

It only made sense that Barsad would instruct him this way, but Bane felt that the smiles Blake had pulled from his brother might be influencing his perception. Bane would have to see for himself.

\--

That night before Bane went to bed, he laid on his back and held his phone above him, scrolling through the messages Blake and Barsad had exchanged. At first, Blake had remained a bit distant, but Barsad was nothing if not an expert at hitting the right note between overly-friendly and professional, often teasing Blake but also using kind words and even wishing him sweet dreams. Bane had never been a jealous man, but he could only wonder where Barsad had learned such gentleness and where Bane had been to miss the way his whole demeanor softened towards the object of his affections.

He fell asleep with his phone safely on his nightstand, but his mind on Barsad and Blake exchanging quiet words and soft laughter, their fingers laced together.

\--

The next evening Barsad had grinned when he showed up, showing him Blake’s text, and this time Barsad guided Bane through it instead of taking over completely. Every message Bane typed, Barsad read before he hit the send button. It was surprisingly taxing on Bane’s mind, Blake’s wit keeping him on his toes. He fought to remain stoic—and failed—after the first time he smiled at the screen only to look up and see Barsad raising an eyebrow at him.

\--

Talia rarely visited them in their current headquarters. The sewers were no place for a woman of such dignity, and Bane never asked that of her, instead always going to her. When she did venture underground, it was with only a few minutes of warning right before she entered his tunnels. Bane had to drop what he was working on and venture out to meet her with Barsad walking a few steps behind him. Workers milled around them, parting for their presence and then absorbing their path like they had never been there. Bane disliked the attention mixing with the crowd brought him, always on edge when people stood in his personal space, but none of these men were a threat.

“Bane,” said Talia, calling out to him with a soft voice and even softer eyes. Bane melted and picked up his pace, ducking his head to let her hold his cheeks and press a kiss to his forehead. He hummed pleasantly in response, earning a tender smile. Talia turned to Barsad, squeezing his hand in greeting but not moving to kiss him as well. Even though Talia always greeted them this way, Bane couldn’t help the stutter in his chest. He had never seen Talia kiss Barsad and, while he would not object should she do so, he liked keeping the gesture all for himself. The only other man Talia had kissed without an ulterior motive was her father, and Bane liked to think that counted for something.

“I have news,” she said, her eyes twinkling, and Bane nodded. Barsad turned and led the way, parting the crowds as Bane guarded Talia’ side. Some stared, no doubt curious towards or even craving the woman that commanded their forces from afar, reducing their great leaders to mere pawns in comparison. Bane was perfectly accepting of Talia’s control and demanded the same acceptance from his troops, beating respect into them if he deemed it necessary. Barsad had no qualms furthering his teachings, inspiring the fear of god in men who attributed Bane’s bulk to a lack of brain and ultimately underestimated the slighter man for his assumed lack of both. They had occasionally lost persistently impertinent individuals but gathered more support in the long run with their extreme regime.

Once inside Bane’s personal quarters, which didn’t hold much in terms of comfort, Barsad shut the door behind them and leaned against it, leaving the chair and the bed free for either of them. Bane gave Talia the chair, knowing the cot set up in the corner wasn’t comfortable for anyone other than himself. It creaked in protest under his weigh but otherwise held firm, and Bane focused his attention on Talia where she sat near his desk. “Wayne has invited me back to the manor,” she said, smiling in accomplishment.

“Congratulations, sister,” said Barsad, voicing Bane’s thoughts and his own.

“However,” she said, holding their attention tighter, “Officer Blake has also requested a night of your company, Bane.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bane saw Barsad tense. It was just a slight shift in posture, nothing obvious enough to alert Talia of his unease, but Bane had lived with Barsad, often in close enough quarters to feel the other man breathe next to him, and therefore was more in tune with his second than Talia might be. She also was looking directly at Bane, leaving Barsad completely out of her line of sight. Sensing Barsad might have a few choice things to say to him but not knowing why, Bane played along with her. “Has he?”

“He asked Bruce to formally extend an invitation to you for dinner, but I understand if you want to skip the meal entirely,” she said, winking at him. He knew it was playful, but he couldn’t bring himself to answer her. Before she noticed his silence, however, she continued. “I went ahead and accepted for you. It’s this Friday and there’s no reason for you not to accompany me. If something urgent should arise, Barsad is more than capable.”

“Of course,” said Bane, glancing at Barsad for confirmation before returning to Talia.

“I understand if you feel slightly unprepared, but this is an opportunity you cannot waste, brother,” she said, smiling as she stood and approached him to kneel and hold his face like she always did, gently and reverently. Her image struck similarities to women he had often seen praying at the shrines of their God several times a day: hands above her head, expression hopeful but humble.

“It’s alright,” he said, not daring to take her hands and hold them in his own as he wished to. She let go of him anyway, rising to her feet. “I understand the importance, I will be ready.”

“Thank you, Bane,” she said, his name falling from her lips as easily as any other. She had never flinched away from him, and he loved her for it. “Now, care to fill me in on our progress?” She asked, as if Bane didn’t remember to fill her in every few days. But he took her merciful change in conversation for what it was and led her away from Blake and Bruce and any thoughts of romance or seduction, least of all Bane within the equation for either. Beyond her, Barsad made his excuses and left them, but not before Bane saw the frown lingering around his eyes.

\--

This time it was the butler to answer the door, looking pleased to see them. He was incredibly accommodating, taking Talia’s coat and Bane’s as well, and then leading them to the room where Wayne waited for them. Upon seeing each other, Talia and Wayne converged like long since parted lovers and refused to let go of each other, first sharing loud and publically appropriate greetings then quiet, tender ones whispered directly to each other’s ears. Bane knew it would be impolite to stare, and found he didn’t want to anyways. Although a game, he hated seeing Talia hanging off the arm of any man. She played her part well, almost too well for Bane to handle. It felt almost like betrayal, but he endured with the thought of Wayne broken and ruined at his feet.

“John is upstairs, I’m sorry but he’s running late. His shift ran long, he was sprinting up the stairs before Alfred could ask him what had happened,” said Wayne, all with an easy smile and laughter lingering at the back of his throat. Bane found himself wanting to escape the man’s undying charm.

“Why don’t you go see if he’s ready, Antonio?” Talia prompted, grinning playfully. Then, she turned to Wayne and flashed him the same look, “he’s been hung up about tonight all week. I think his nerves are getting the best of him,” she said, clearly explaining herself. Wayne took the excuse with no questions asked, undoubtedly thinking of getting Talia alone even for a few minutes, and if Bane didn’t know any better he thought he heard Wayne whisper filth in Talia’s ear.

He took his leave when Wayne raised no objections, and directions to Blake’s room in the giant manor rang behind him. Bane passed the good-natured butler on his way to the stairs, giving Alfred a polite nod when he said “Mr. Dorrance” in greeting but ultimately didn’t stop to make conversation.  Bane absolutely refused to take the stairs two at a time like an over-enthusiastic child—and then imagined Blake doing just that, not knowing what to think of Blake running around the house.

Blake’s room was on the second floor of the manor, in a different wing than Wayne’s personal rooms according to Talia’s intel. Bane didn’t like to leave Talia with so much distance between when Wayne was so close to her and could easily hurt her before Bane could reach her side. He had no doubt Talia could overcome Wayne given the right opportunity, but he absolutely didn’t want her in harm’s way. As he walked, Bane calculated how quickly he could sprint from one end of the manor to the other.

Lost in that train of thought, Bane soon found himself at the right door. It was shut firmly, barring him from slipping inside without a sound, but he could hear if he leaned forward and twisted his ear towards the door. Someone was humming and there was water running further in the back. Adjusting his scarf, Bane inhaled heavily and caught a whiff of soap. Blake had showered already, then, which would hopefully save them from an awkward situation.

He knocked, then took a step away from the door so Blake wouldn’t stumble at the sight of him looming so close. Instead of the door swinging inward, however, Blake’s voice called from inside the room. “Come on in, Alfred,” he said, voice muffled, and Bane hesitated.

He couldn’t announce himself as someone other than Blake’s assumed visitor, so he was left hovering just inside the door, trying to determine whether or not venturing in would further his cause or just put Blake on edge. Bane couldn’t even clear his throat, and he was at a loss for the first time in a long time. If he clapped or something similar, then Blake would only come out to see him standing inside his personal quarters, something the young officer might find insulting or off-putting.

The door to the backroom was wide open, revealing condensation on a large window and creamy tiles on the floor. The beginning of pristine plumbing fixtures could be seen, but Bane didn’t have good enough angle to see further into the room. Before he could second guess his action, Bane stepped further into the room and walked to the bathroom door. He paused just outside and calmly knocked on the open frame, angling his eyes away just in case Blake had the habit of walking around his rooms bare.

“Are they here? They didn’t cancel, did-” he heard Blake gasp and stop where he had been walking, frozen in the doorway just a few feet in front of Bane. When the young man made no attempt to kick him out and demand privacy, Bane turned to look at him.

Blake was bare chested, which wasn’t much of a shock, but he was also bare foot and his hair was in as much a disarray as it could be with such short length. It looked like he was just done shaving his face, skin red and heavily scented of sterile alcohol. They stared at each other for a heartbeat before Blake’s face erupted with red and Bane could hear practically hear his heart thud suddenly. “I’m so sorry!” Blake barked, turning on his heel and fleeing back into the bathroom. This time the door slammed shut behind him, leaving Bane standing there with an eyebrow raised.

He couldn’t speak up to question Blake, so he wanted patiently for a few minutes, listening to Blake stumble around in the other room with half-interest. Bane knew his presence would easily fluster the man, given Blake’s thinly veiled flirtations in their conversations, but he still didn’t know the extent to which he was under the officer’s skin. Going out on a limb, he knocked on the doorframe again and waited for Blake to answer.

“I didn’t know, I thought you were Alfred…Shit… I promise I’m not this crazy under normal circumstances, I’m just—christ I can’t remember how much sleep I got last night… Was it last night?.. This definitely wasn’t how I wanted this to go… goddammit,” said Blake, mumbling through the door. Bane took every muttered curse word with a slight smirk. When he knocked a third time, the door flew open. “Fuck! I forgot, I’m so fucking sorry,” said Blake, staring at Bane with wide, horrified eyes.

Bane had to laugh and the low sound helped Blake relax just enough for his breathing to slow back down to normal. “I surprised you,” signed Bane, still smirking under his scarf.

“Yes, you scared me shitless. You’re quite a deal bigger than Alfred, I almost pissed myself in surprise,” said Blake, but there was no malice in his words. Bane took it with great humour, and Blake glared at him slightly before turning back around and going back to the bathroom sink. The door didn’t shut behind him so Bane moved to lean against it, doing his best to look casual despite blocking the entire doorframe and Blake’s only escape. Blake had poor survival instincts, as he didn’t seem to notice. Bane was a bit more concerned with that than he could explain.

“I was supposed to be back an hour ago, instead I had to answer a call about domestic assault and sit with the woman in the ambulance because she had no one else and she wouldn’t let go of my hand. I couldn’t just let her go alone, I mean jesus she could barely see out of one eye and her right wrist was broken. We took pleasure in slamming her husband on the floor to cuff him,” he said, gritting his teeth as he checked his jaw and chin in the mirror. With his anger, his face has nearly shut down, the casual humour Bane had come to expect of him smothered beneath it.

“We?” Bane signed, just to keep Blake talking. He had no real interest in the Gotham police, but it couldn’t hurt to listen on the off-chance Blake mentioned something worth remembering. He’d never forgive himself if he missed important information just because he was mildly bored.

“Yeah, my partner, Tyler” he said, giving Bane a glance before dabbing cologne behind his ears and at the hollow of his throat. Bane purposefully followed his hands instead of keeping eye contact, and was rewarded with red rushing up Blake’s neck. Blake cleared his throat and said, “He’s a good guy, I’ve been paired with him since I signed on. He’s my mentor, kind of, since he’s got a few more years’ experience than I do, thank fuck. I’m invited to dinner with his wife a couple times a year, we go out to drink on weekends occasionally, that sort of thing.”

Bane nodded, debating on the benefits of walking further into the bathroom and investigating Blake’s personal things. However, Bane had the creeping suspicion that this was only the bare minimum of Blake’s life, as if he had another residence that he frequented more than the manor. If that was the case and Blake wasn’t just living frugally and distancing himself from his living conditions, then Bane knew he’d have to see the inside. If Blake invited him to his second home, all the better. If he had to send someone he trusted to break in when Blake wasn’t inside it was no weight on his conscience.

Blake moved from the sink and made for the doorway, but Bane didn’t move until Blake was forced to hover in front of him and wait. Bane leaned forward, ignoring the way Blake’s eyes widened minutely, and inhaled the new scent Blake had spritzed onto his skin. It was warm and woodsy, a good choice for autumn, and Bane approved when he noticed how it mixed with the fresh smell of Blake’s soap and his natural fragrance. After a few inhales Bane stepped aside and let Blake pass, giving him room to move and to breathe, if the hitch in the man’s breathing was any hint.

As much as Bane felt this side-mission a waste of his own precious time, he was enjoying the powerful feeling that came with effecting someone in such a way. It had been years since someone had been genuinely attracted to him without preamble. It either said something about Bane, or Blake’s own psychological problems, some of which Bane guessed he needed help with. Mental health was no trivial thing, of this Bane was obstinate. If Blake wanted to perform his best, as Bane assumed he did given how much time and effort Blake dedicated to his work, then mental control and fitness was as important as physical and needed to be constantly improved and challenged. Had Bane had caught Blake younger, less transfixed with thoughts of structured justice and second chances, he had no doubt the man would be a tough competitor for even his adoptive father figure.

Blake was standing in front of a large oak dresser, dark and looming across the room from the floor to ceiling windows that lit the entire room during the day. Now, Bane took the time to view the evening stars usually hidden by the smog and pollution of the city that was absent in the countryside where Wayne Manor sat. In the corner of his eye he could see Blake tug on a grey long sleeve shirt and sit on his bed. He refused to turn away from the window to watch properly, unsure why he even felt the need in the first place: there was no information to use against Wayne in the way his apprentice pulled on his socks and wiggled his toes to give them room to move.

Back resolutely turned, Bane pretended to give the man privacy as he instead found himself watching Blake’s hazy reflection in the glass. Blake pushed his sleeves up and ran a hand through his half-dry hair as he decided on his shoes, and even then appeared to just juggle two option, pointing at one then the other and whispering to himself. It was like watching a child decide between desserts, Bane realized, and then he smiled. He made his way over, pointed at the cognac coloured boat shoes Blake hadn’t considered. He observed Blake’s reaction carefully, oddly pleased when he slipped the shoes on without question. “I’ve never had so many shoes in my life, I have no idea which ones should be worn when. Bruce says they’re necessary, though, so here we are.”

“They look good on you,” Bane signed, making sure Blake could see his hands move.

“Yeah, well, I’m glad you think so because I would know any better,” Blake said, frowning at his toes. “Alright, ready,” he said, jumping to his feet and rocking on the balls of his feet, eager.

Bane chose to hold his arm out in response, and Blake eyed his elbow like he had no idea how to approach it. Switching tactics, Bane reached for Blake’s hand and found an equally positive reaction. He led Blake out of the man’s bedroom, casting a glance back after Blake closed the door behind them. Blake was smiling, staring at their hands.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter feels a bit slow to me, but that might be just because it took my 10 minutes to decide on John's fucking shoes (you think I'm joking but sometimes I need mundane details and can't let it go) and eventually wrote it in for my own amusement. 
> 
> Feel free to follow me on [tumblr](https://www.she-who-fell-from-grace.tumblr.com), just be warned that not much of it is actually TDKR related (aka random and nerdy shit)


	4. I Can Feel It In My Bones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm bumping the rating up for this chapter. And let's face it, it was going to get bumped up eventually anyways, either for porn or for something angsty.

 

Dinner was once again a semi-quiet affair, with Talia and Wayne talking solely to each other after polite inquiries were exchanged over the table. Alfred firmly declined an invitation to join them at the table and instead retreated to the kitchen again. Bane assumed it was to leave the conversation more even, with Bane across from Blake and therefore at the center of his attention. The focus Blake gave him as the minutes ticked by amazed Bane, as the man’s eyes held something different from the usual respect and wariness he was used to seeing in his men. The officer was ceaselessly curious, asking Bane questions and trying to relate them to his own life. It was, at the base level, an incredibly attentive way to keep Bane feeling included and somewhat flattered. Very few people tried that hard to keep Bane happy in such a way.

Their conversation had moved from Blake’s work to Bane’s, a topic Bane would have chosen to avoid but understood the necessity of. Blake wouldn’t be a very good cop if he knew nothing about his own date. Perhaps it was only his cop-side that kept him asking questions, as a saying about gift horses and their mouths popped into Bane’s head when he considered Blake’s past love life and his upbringing. A powerful and attractive man taking an interest in a poor orphan boy was unheard outside of romance novels, so it was anticipated that Blake would be suspicious even if he had no wish to drive Bane away. Bane would not be deterred, naturally despising people who abandoned their lovers for demanding respect and honesty.

He refused to analyze the dichotomy of his own values when applied to his situation with Blake. This was a completely different matter; he was not doing this for himself. Yes, he regretted having to potentially crush Blake in such a way—there was no way this pseudo-romance would end well for Blake—but Talia had asked him to put forth his best effort and Bane would. Doing so wasn’t nearly as difficult as he would have guessed. Blake was an excellent conversationalist and a bright young man if a bit biased due to his time on the force. Bane could sense only the beginning of corruption that came from Wayne’s wealthy influence, which surprised him; he had expected Blake to willingly immerse himself in such an easy and lavish lifestyle.

“I work in construction and development,” Bane signed, figuring he could use Daggett as a placeholder. “Miranda called me in to take a look at the lower-income districts and see if anything could be done to buy and improve them,” he signed, knowing he was playing on Blake’s heart strings.

As predicted, Blake’s face lit up, dimples Bane had never seen before appearing on his face. Bane stared, almost in awe, before recovering to watch Blake sign. His accuracy had improved with each conversation, as did the extent of his vocabulary. “Did she show you the Narrows? I used to live there,” signed Blake, unashamed of his origins.

“She did,” signed Bane, smiling underneath his scarf, “it is one the places I’m willing to invest in. Though the location of Arkham Asylum is unfortunate, I am hopeful.” He made no mention of Daggett specifically, preferring to keep himself separate from such a distasteful man, and Blake would know anything different.

“When do you plan on starting?”

“We’re already in the process of buying properties. Construction might have to wait until the spring,” signed Bane. Blake nodded, reaching for his glass. He glanced between the contents and Bane’s face, practically sneaking looks over the rim like a curious child.

After taking a sip, Blake signed again, changing the conversation. “I feel… horrible, sitting here eating while you don’t.”

Bane waved the thought away, leaning back in his chair and feigning relaxation. “If you’re finished, we could excuse ourselves,” he signed and, just to see Blake blush, winked.

Blake immediately put his silverware on his plate, announced how full he was and thanked Talia for joining them, then escaped to the kitchen with his dirty dishes. Wayne and Talia laughed good-naturedly together.

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Dorrance,” said Wayne, standing and shaking Bane’s hand. “It was a pleasure to have you, you are welcome to join us for dinner whenever you’d like.”

“I suggest you hurry and catch up to him, Antonio, before he trips over his own feet in his excitement. I will send for you when it gets late, yes?”

Bane nodded, giving Wayne one last polite nod and touching Talia’s hand gently as he passed. Talia was right, he needed to find Blake. But he walked slow, meandering from one painting to the next and making Blake either wait or give in and find him instead. A good ten minutes passed before he decided he had let the poor man stew long enough, and he made his way up to Blake’s bedroom where he guessed the young man paced the floor in anticipation.

The door flew open seconds after he knocked, and Blake stood on the other side looking flushed and slightly unguarded. Bane smiled down at him and Blake’s dimples reappeared with his exhaled laugh, his face softening with their presence.

“May I come in?” Bane signed, and Blake quickly moved out of his way and shut the door behind him. Standing in Blake’s room felt distinctly different than it had before dinner; Bane blamed the tension sizzling in the air.

“I didn’t… read it into it, right? This is what you meant when you said we could leave-”

Bane touched his thumb to the side of Blake’s neck, making the man freeze and his words stop. Feeling strangely nervous, Bane kept his hand from shaking minutely as he stroked Blake’s pulse point. It made no sense for him to back out now, not when he had already sunk his hooks into Blake and could slowly reel him in from this point on. This escape to Blake’s bedroom was planned, as was everything else in Bane’s mission, and it wouldn’t benefit him from acting the prude and leaving without pushing forward. Giving ground would not be accepted, and Talia would be disappointed to hear that he had retreated instead of pressing his advantage.

He nearly cursed himself for thinking of her now. Talia had no place in this setting, not in his thoughts when there was a young man eagerly waiting for his next move with wide eyes and a bared soul. Not only was it disrespectful towards her, but Bane didn’t want anyone else on his mind. To do so would undoubtedly distract him in a way he couldn’t afford and even make him feel cheap. His focus needed to be on his every move, calculated and brandished with the utmost precision to strike the desired effect on Blake’s heart. It was cruel, but Bane refused to let himself falter just to save this man’s feelings.

When he slipped the rest of his fingers over Blake’s neck to press his palm to his skin, Blake gasped and his hand flew up to hold onto Bane’s wrist. Pressing just enough to feel the man breathe, Bane left his hand there as a steady anchor as he searched Blake’s face for any disagreement to his actions. He found only anticipation and filed the reaction away for future reference before tugging Blake close with his grip, his other hand going to Blake’s nape. How many times had he placed his hands like so on someone’s neck, the touch intimate and slightly threatening no matter the scenario, only to snap their neck with a quick twist? His fingers twitched at the thought, but he felt no urge to perform such an execution now. Instead, he tipped his head down and stared into Blake’s eyes, ignoring his question noise and overtaking Blake’s personal space.

With his spare hand, Blake reached up and hovered his fingers close to Bane’s scarf. He was obviously curious, and Bane knew they couldn’t kiss as the situation traditionally called for as long as he had his mouth covered as he did. Blake knew it too, but he wasn’t so brash as to simply tug the scarf away without permission.

Bane thought for a moment, gaze flicking between Blake’s hand and his eyes, noting how blown his pupils were, before deciding on a plan. He moved his hand from the side of Blake’s neck to lay it over the man’s eyes, trusting him to understand and keep his eyes closed. When he removed his hand, he paused to make sure Blake didn’t peek. Blake’s eyes fluttered open slowly, but when he saw Bane raising an eyebrow with a withering reprimanding look, he snapped them shut again. Bane snagged the knot of his tie and undid it with quick, practiced movements.

Blake froze when the silk brushed over his brow and pressed gently over his eyes. Bane had to wrap his hands around to tie the knot, placing his neck close to Blake’s face, but Blake didn’t move until he had pulled away. The officer was sucking deep breaths through his nose as if trying to catch what lingered of Bane’s scent. Bane had also smelt the cologne had watched Blake put on earlier, but his focus was instead on the way Blake wet his lips and put his safety completely into Bane’s hands. It was the sort of blind trust Bane wasn’t entirely used to seeing, and it enamored him enough for his touch to Blake’s cheek to be gentle.

With Blake’s eyes covered, Bane couldn’t communicate with Blake as he might have wanted or even enjoyed. Instead he had to touch and guide Blake to where he wanted him to go, leading his hands up to his chest and letting them rest there with his own hands on Blake’s slim hips. He could feel the snug belt of Blake’s pants but didn’t toy with it in fear of drawing Blake’s attention away from his face. He needn’t’ve worried, Blake’s hands slid up over his collar bone and rested just below his ears. After a few moments of merely standing in each other’s space and breathing each other in, Blake slipped his fingertips over the edge of Bane’s scarf.

It was a slow process with Blake moving carefully, first tracing his fingers over the scarf then up to the eyes he so often stared at. Bane allowed himself to close his eyes and allow Blake to flit along his eyelashes, more effected by Blake’s touch that he was willing to admit even to himself. His heart thumped loudly when Blake drew tender lines down the bridge of his nose and over the scarring there, pausing only long enough to confirm what he had felt. Absently, Bane was happy that Barsad had given him a light brown scarf that was soft to the touch, almost silky in texture, instead of the thick and bulky loose weave he had worn the first time. Where Barsad had gained so much knowledge on scarves, he daren’t ask.  

The scars dissecting his lips were given extra time and care; Bane’s breath came heavy in his lungs when Blake paused and rubbed his fingertips over the largest one that cut from his chin to his cheek and left a deep slice in sensitive skin. Blake must have felt his shaky exhale because he paused, reached down to grab Bane’s hand where it rested on his hip, and brought Bane’s fingers up to his own lips. Bane nearly sighed, touching Blake’s unmarred lips with equal reverence. Opening his eyes felt like he was cheating himself out of something, so after only a glance to check Blake’s blindfold was still securely in place Bane left himself to his other senses once again.

 After Blake has touched all of his scars over the thin protection of the scarf, his hands cupped Bane’s jaw and brought his head lower and closer. He toyed with the edges of the scarf and then finally, slowly, pulled it from Bane’s nose and cheeks to let it pool on his collarbone. Blake’s breathing sped up as soon as his fingers touched Bane’s actual skin, his mouth falling open underneath Bane’s fingers to suck in as much air as he could. Bane took the opportunity to trace the edges of Blake’s lips with his own rough fingers, enjoying the trust he was being given. When Blake was satisfied with touching every inch of Bane’s revealed face, he leaned up on his toes and placed a kiss on Bane’s lips. Bane was left frozen for a moment, his eyes snapping open in surprise. He had no right to be so shocked because he had known where this moment was leading, but for some reason he had doubted Blake would follow through.

Blake backed off, taking his lack of participation as a bad sign. He licked his lips and his hands twitched against Bane’s jaw. “Too much?” He asked, and if Bane didn’t know any better he’d say he sounded almost sad.

Now Bane was at a loss. He found himself in unfamiliar territory and while he knew the advantageous course of action would be to cover the distance between them himself and take another kiss, he couldn’t bear the thought with Blake so vulnerable in front of him. He moved one hand to Blake’s chest, using a finger to write the letters “A G A I N” into Blake’s shirt. Blake grinned after a moment, dimples nearly blinding, and then launched forward to capture another kiss.

They stood there, nearly frozen in the middle of Blake’s room, as Blake brought his tongue into play and Bane nearly tripped over himself to mirror his movements to keep up with the new pace. The kiss felt filthy, overtaking everything in his mouth until Blake had spread himself into every crevice and over every taste bud. Bane had to pull back just to breathe and recover as Blake panted and mouthed against his jaw, fingers moving to give himself more room. When Blake’s hands hinted at going around his neck, Bane was quick to grab them and direct them to his shoulders and, to cover the sudden stiffness in his back, led one down to his stomach. Blake took it in stride, lapping at Bane’s Adam’s apple where his scarf was hastily pushed down as he scratched down towards Bane’s belt, undoing buttons haphazardly as he went.

Bane couldn’t claim he was even remotely unaffected by Blake’s touch. For all his training, he was still just a man, and even if he could separate himself mentally and will his body back into his control, he had no desire to do so. Somewhere the lines between mission and pleasure had blurred a bit. Blake was everything Bane hadn’t had in a long time and Talia could poke fun at him if she wanted because his pants were pressing insistently against his growing erection and he didn’t give a damn as long as Blake didn’t either. Blake didn’t protest, especially when Bane tugged up the back of his shirt to get his hands on the skin underneath and press their bodies closer.

“Fuck,” said Blake, digging his nails into the muscle of Bane’s shoulder and using that as leverage to rock his hips forward against Bane’s. Bane couldn’t stop a moan, only managing to keep it low and half-smothered. Blake started pawing at Bane’s belt in response, rubbing himself onto Bane’s thigh with little rotations of his hips.

Bane heard the approaching footsteps long before a knock came at the door. “Master Wayne and Miss Tate are just finishing up their tea, Master Blake. Best you say goodbye to your guest soon,” said Alfred through the door, thankfully not opening it or asking to do so.

Blake tore himself away from their kiss, hands stilling like a teenager caught by their parents. “Yes, thank you Alfred,” he said, his composure remarkable considering Bane had taken the opportunity to suck a bruise into his throat, high above where he’d be able to hide it with a collar.

Alfred retreated and Blake grabbed onto Bane’s shoulders with all his might, surely leaving his own bruises. “Fuck, you’ll be the death of me,” he said, shuddering all over when Bane pulled back and left the spot to throb without his attention. They breathed together for a few minutes, mouths hovering close and occasionally touching without intent. Bane pressed one last kiss to Blake’s open lips before quickly tugging his scarf back into place and giving Blake space to right his own appearance as he looked the young man over with a strange pride.

He was smiling when Blake tugged the tie away from his eyes, finally recovering his breath. “Jesus Christ,” he said, muttering as he looked Bane up and down and then lingered on Bane’s scarf. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” He asked, fixing his rumpled shirt and redoing all but the top two of Bane’s buttons. His hand rested on Bane’s chest and he stared at the dark blue material.

“I can’t,” signed Bane, and Blake nodded in acceptance. After a pause, Bane added, “but I do want to.” Blake grinned at that, and Bane couldn’t help but smile when the man looked up at him.

Blake held a hand over his own eyes, “do I get one last kiss if I promise not to peek?”

Bane knew it was dangerous, that if Blake saw his face it would be easy for Blake to identify him if they ever met after winter came and Bane was no longer Antonio Dorrance but Gotham’s Reckoning. But he’d never forgive himself if he left Blake as he was, no doubt causing him pain with his rejection. Bane shifted his scarf down just enough to capture Blake’s lips again, the fabric shifting against their chins. Blake respected him by keeping his hand up the whole time, eyes closed and mouth open.

Pulling away and putting his scarf back into place, Bane drew Blake in for a hug. He hadn’t planned on it, it wasn’t needed for his seduction of John Blake. He could have left after the kiss and count the date as a success, but the vulnerable joy on Blake’s face had weakened his resolve. Blake sighed against his chest, face pressed close and arms around Bane’s waist. Bane squeezed his shoulders, arms nearly swallowing Blake whole, and let one hand tangle into the hair at Blake’s nape.

Blake shivered, and Bane was thrilled to find his arousal had not lessened whatsoever where it pressed against Bane’s thigh. With that thought in mind, he reached down and dug his fingers into the underside of Blake’s ass, nearly drawing Blake up onto his toes with the strength of his grip. Blake’s hips bucked against his, and he swore loudly against Bane’s shirt.

When Bane pulled away, Blake nearly tore his shirt to keep him close. “You fucking tease,” said Blake, practically hissing. Bane laughed, silencing Blake’s protests as his face shifted from irritation to outright awe.

“I’d walk you to the door but,” said Blake, glancing down at the tent in his pants. “I think Alfred might faint.”

Bane chuckled and shrugged. Then he picked his tie off the floor where Blake had forgotten it, and gave it to Blake. “Keep it,” he signed, “use it and think of me,” and the way Blake blushed gave Bane the idea that it couldn’t make it out of the man’s bedroom anytime soon. Blake had extraordinary tastes and he certainly knew how to enjoy himself. Bane could find no fault in that.

Before Blake closed the door behind him, Blake bounced up on his toes and placed a kiss square in between Bane’s eyes. Bane froze but Blake only grinned at him, tie gripped tight in his fist, and locked the door when it clicked shut.

\--

It was fairly easy to work around Blake’s schedule. Whenever the officer got off work, Bane would take a break and dutifully respond to his messages for a good chunk of time before admitting to slacking off on his own work for the sake of their conversation. Blake always laughed and let him get back to it, promising to text him later that night when he thought Bane would no longer be working. Bane found the persistence charming in a childish kind of way.

Bane and Barsad had grown used to hearing Bane’s phone buzz in his pocket at random times, now with far more activity than ever before. Barsad would sometimes take over for him and Bane felt comfortable giving him access to his phone for long periods of time, but for the most part Bane handled his own quasi-relationship. He was fairly sure that’s what it was, at least, considering Blake’s hints at the idea.

When Bane had relayed these hints to Barsad, his brother had snorted abruptly, a sardonic grin curling his mouth.

“It only makes sense. You groped each other like teenagers after a late night movie, so he’s probably wondering if you’re trying to make him your “kept boy” or if you’re serious,” he said, transferring files from his computer to a pen drive.

“I am very serious,” said Bane.

“Then tell him that. Imagine how many people have tried to use him for his body,” said Barsad, tapping his fingers idly as they waited. He glanced at Bane, raising an eyebrow, before gesturing to the cell phone in Bane’s hands.

“I can’t just say it randomly, it will be too… sudden,” said Bane, frowning.

“Then ask him out on a date again, and make sure not to grope him this time,” said Barsad, grinning when Bane sent him a warning glare. “You shouldn’t have told us if you didn’t want me to tease,” he said, and they both knew it was true.

“I didn’t think Talia would press for details,” said Bane, keeping his frown.

“Ah,” said Barsad, and once again Bane saw the tension in his shoulders. He would have to confront Barsad if it stood in the way of their work, but for now he trusted his second to deal with his own issues without interference.

“When should I ask him?” Bane asked, instead of drawing attention to whatever was frustrating Barsad.

“Tomorrow… I’d advise against dinner, unless you want a one sided affair. Try a movie, perhaps.”

“Movies do not interest me,” said Bane, and it shocked him when he almost moved his hands to sign it instead of speaking. Barsad didn’t notice his hands twitch from his lap.

“Too bad. You’re playing sweethearts with a boy 15 years your junior who grew up without close friends or parental figures, I guarantee you he missed out on the high school dating scene. He’ll love the idea,” said Barsad, his face schooled back into his neutral expression.

“I will ask him,” said Bane, accepting the pen drive from Barsad and standing. “Arrange a meeting with Daggett, he’s getting antsy about Wallstreet and I’ll have to placate him.”

Barsad nodded, watching him as he always did. As Bane passed by, he paused he touched his fingers to Barsad’s cheek. He had touched Blake exactly like this only the bight before and he marveled at the difference in response.

Where Blake’s eyes had been covered, his mouth open and panting, Barsad looked down at his wrist then back to his face, bereft of his earlier tension and also the unadulterated arousal Blake had presented. He touched the pad of his thumb to Barsad’s lips, and Barsad pressed forward to place a dry kiss there before pushing Bane’s hand away. Bane smiled and took his leave.


	5. I Don't Want to Die Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, another rating bump. Lovely. Enjoy this chapter, it's a long time coming!

Blake was visibly excited to be meeting him out in public. Bane religiously ignored the stares he received for wearing his scarf in such a way, and instead focused on placing one foot in front of the other. The crowd parted for him, no doubt shying away from his bulk and his hard stare, and then swallowed up his path like he was never there. He was early, and he hoped Blake wouldn’t be around to see him before he could compose himself. Being so outside his usual element had him on edge with nerves upsetting his stomach and making his palms clammy. Bane refused to listen to Barsad when his second began talking of butterflies and other such nonsense. Bane was not a teenager, and he did not enjoy the joke as he might have at someone else’s expense.  

Talia had chosen his outfit for the evening, butting Barsad out of the way to do so. She put him into pants he didn’t even know they owned in his size, slipping a belt around his waist before giving him the option of a tie. He went without, choosing to pull on a sweater he also had no recollection of owning and accepting the fingerless gloves she held out to him with only a slight grimace. He felt dressed up like a doll but it did do something special to his confidence.

Bane saw Barsad sulking in the corner the entire time before putting an end to it by asking for advice on his scarf. It was a dark shade of green that Bane did not protest to. Barsad wrapped neatly it around his head and zipped his jacket up halfway, telling him that leather suited him, and left before Bane could respond. Something about Barsad’s behavior was off but Bane had yet to sit him down and ask about it, and he already had plans with Blake for the night so it would have to wait yet another day.

If Bane anticipated correctly, the night with Blake would prove eventful. Talia had teased him about a sleepover, but Bane had no intentions of sleeping with Officer Blake after their date. The entire point of going out was not to enjoy him—even if he would—but to prove to Blake that Bane did not simple desire his body. To be fair, Bane _didn’t_. He needed Blake’s influence on Wayne, not warmth in his bed. Blake would undoubtedly have suspicions about Bane’s intentions even after tonight, as in all likelihood Blake’s previous suitors had attempted to use him to get to Bruce Wayne. Some may have even plotted his demise; Bane was just the first person to want Wayne dead.

Bane trusted Barsad’s word and put it to action. Blake had suggested The Hunger Games, had admitted to being a huge fan of the books but lacking the time or the company to see it sooner. After googling it—something he found himself doing increasingly often since he began his wooing of Officer John Blake—Bane had agreed. The concept intrigued him, and he was eager to see how Blake responded to some of the more raw motifs of the film. Barsad told him he was thinking far too much into it, but even his second could see the value in thoroughly knowing Blake’s mindset.

“I can’t believe you’re going to a _movie_ ,” said Barsad, lingering after Talia had left for her own nightly plans. Bane glanced at him, smiled, and continued unclasping his mask.

“It is hardly what I planned when I imagined coming to this city,” admitted Bane, voice slightly muffled as the mask shifted. He turned away before it fell from his face, and kept his back turned on Barsad as he adjusted the valves for the night. Barsad had seen his face many times before, but Bane still liked to keep it hidden when he could. The scars, while Barsad nor Talia shied away from them, hadn’t faded enough over the past two decades to keep Bane from feeling self-conscious. He still touched them without thinking, and it pained him almost as much as his venom.

“Do not lie, you are enjoying yourself,” said Barsad, and Bane did not deny it.

“I am,” he said, fixing his more discreet mask into place. Barsad stepped up behind him to help him with the back, and Bane stood still while he worked. “To a point,” he added, “it feels… nice… almost normal,” he said.

“He is beautiful,” said Barsad, voice steady. Bane turned at once.

“I do not value him for his beauty,” said Bane, allowing Barsad to touch his face. “Just as I do not value you for yours,” he said, and Barsad snorted.

“Bah, I’ve always warned the League you can be charming when you try,” he said.

“I do not lie,” said Bane, “or charm.” Barsad still eyed him with disbelief and so Bane mirrored his touch and placed his fingers against his cheek. Barsad held his gaze until Bane was certain his point was acknowledge, and then Bane let him go. “There is no need to deny it, it does not make you weak.”

Barsad’s gaze snapped to him, and Bane nearly froze at the heat waiting there. “I am not concerned with who underestimates me, their presumptions will get them killed one way or another. I _am_ concerned with those who are taken advantage of for their beauty,” he said, refusing to look away from Bane’s eyes.

Bane took a minute to gather his thoughts before he said, “do you speak of yourself, or of Blake?” Barsad threw his hands into the air and walked away, fuming for reasons unknown to Bane. He assumed his second was simply exasperated, as he often was, with Bane’s selective attentiveness. Bane wasn’t stupid, but he was unpracticed in many areas of day-to-day life.

“I do not like this plan,” confessed Barsad, crossing his arm in front of him in a defensive way.

Bane frowned underneath his scarf. “This is Talia’s plan, she is our Queen, the leader of shadows. We give her our loyalty,” he said, stepping towards Barsad.

Barsad didn’t even look at him, preferring to remain as distant as possible both psychologically and physically. “She has my loyalty, but I refuse to follow her blindly. I no longer trust her as I know I used to.”

Bane stared at him, unmoving. “What are you saying, Barsad? Be careful with your words.”

“I’m saying that John Blake should not be involved. You’ve seen for yourself, Bane. Blake isn’t who we’re trying to destroy, he’s exact the type of person we’re trying to save.”

“Your affections for him cloud your judgement and your view of the overall picture,” said Bane.

“And your affections for her,” Barsad spit back, “keep you from seeing how she’s using you.” He uncrossed his arms, perhaps suddenly aware of how hostile a position he was taking.

“That is enough, Barsad,” said Bane, wanting to nip this is the bud.

“I am not one of your recruits. Do not speak to me like a child,” said Barsad, narrowing his eyes.

“Stop behaving like one,” said Bane, and Barsad’s eyes flared wide in outrage. Instead of saying anything more, however, he turned on his heel and made for the door.

Bane didn’t have time to regret his words before Barsad had opened the door and stopped in the doorway, prepared to head back to the sewers alone. “Enjoy your date,” said Barsad. “Remember your humanity.”

Bane went on alone, fiddling with the phone in his pocket. It buzzed only once in between Barsad’s exit and Bane’s arrival to the movie theatre. Blake was wondering if he was there yet, to which Bane answered truthfully ‘not yet’, but didn’t ask anything else. Bane waited just outside where Blake could see him easily from the street, leaning against the wall near the line for the ticket booth.

Blake’s entrance was immediately apparent, as Bane could hear him apologizing to someone before he saw him coming. Then, he came into view, and Bane could only stare. He looked lovely, the dark shade of red in his shirt adding a healthy tint to his cheeks. He grinned when he spotted Bane and nearly jogged over to him, but didn’t leap into his arms like Bane may have secretly wanted.

“You look like you’re waiting to rob someone,” said Blake, because he had a poor filter in the best of situations. Bane raised an eyebrow, and Blake stuttered when his etiquette caught up to him. “Oh god, I’m sorry, I just meant… you strike an imposing figure,” said Blake, trying to recovery.

Bane grinned. “Thank you,” he signed, and Blake chuckled a bit.

“Have you bought your ticket yet?” he asked, and when Bane shook his head, Blake tugged him into the line to wait for their turn. “I’ve been waiting to see this movie for months, you have no idea,” he said, and set in on how he had wanted to see it when he first saw the commercials and hoped it lived up to the novel it was based upon. Bane simply watched him and studied the nuances of his expression as he spoke with subtle passion, drinking the information in. For what use, Bane did not fully know, but he justified his behaviour by telling himself it’d be easier to read Blake later on. In the back of his mind he could hear Barsad bark a laugh and call bullshit. In Russian, of course.

“What? Is there something on my face?” said Blake, wiping the skin around his mouth for something.

“Excuse me?” signed Bane, slightly confused.

“You’re staring at me,” said Blake, glancing away. He looked somewhat troubled, and Bane wanted to wipe that worry away.

“I’m watching you speak,” signed Bane.

“Oh shit, sorry,” said Blake, “shit, I forgot to sign as I went. Now I feel like an asshole,” said Blake.

When he raised his hands to pick up where he left off, Bane covered them with one of his own before Blake could start up again. When Blake frowned up at him, Bane smiled and removed his hand. “That’s not why I was watching,” he signed. “You’re beautiful when you have something to say.”

Blake flushed, but still frowned. Bane feared he had not said the right thing at the right moment until Blake looked away and said, “I don’t really think a guy can be beautiful.”

Bane turned Blake’s chin towards him again so he could sign and be heard clearly. “You are handsome,” he signed, and repeated the last word just for emphasis. “I did not mean to insult you,” he signed. “I want you to value your appearance,” signed Bane, “as I value it. Just as I value your intelligence, your charm-” he tried to continue his list—he was ashamed to admit it was a very long list, and still growing too—but Blake blushed red enough to match his shirt and then clamped his hands over Bane’s.

“Fuck, stop it, I’m going to faint,” said Blake, and Bane frowned. He hadn’t meant to distress Blake in such a way.

“I apologize,” signed Bane, pulling his hands away from Blake’s. This wasn’t how he wanted this evening to go. He assumed it was because they were in public and there were people around to see them together. Many societies still held prejudices against homosexuals, especially ‘out and proud’ ones. Bane didn’t consider himself ‘out’, merely open to whatever or whoever his soul desired. Barsad was an excellent example of this as well. But that didn’t mean Blake felt as comfortable as he did, especially in such a harsh city and in a profession where he’d have to prove his masculinity again and again. Bane had to respect Blake’s wish for privacy, even if he didn’t approve of the conditions that caused it.

Bane said nothing more until they were in the theatre itself. Blake also remained relatively silent, only pausing to ask Bane if he wanted anything to eat, then cursing himself for being so inconsiderate once again. Bane had to break his silence to sooth his nerves, but only just.

They sat next to each other in the theatre and Bane made no special effort to keep his distance nor did he crowd next to Blake. He felt Blake would return to him in time, and settled back to pay attention until Blake wanted to steal his. He was not disappointed, as a few minutes in Blake tapped his arm and then snuck his fingers through Bane’s. Bane raised an eyebrow and made sure Blake could see it, but Blake only grinned—perhaps a bit shy—and squeezed his hand. Bane squeezed back, and Blake shifted towards him. It was more than Bane had been hoping for, not sure where they stood when it came to romantic gestures without some undercurrent of sex to embolden them both.

Blake whispered to him a few times but was otherwise a perfectly well-behaved movie goer. He drew lines on Bane’s forearm as he watched the screen with rapt attention, and Bane summed it up to a subconscious action. Nonetheless, it made his skin tingle after a few minutes and Bane enjoyed the light contact almost as much as he enjoyed holding Blake’s hand. He could feel the gun calluses on Blake’s palm and fingers and wondered if Blake was conducting a study of his own. Bane’s hands were tougher and more scarred than Blake’s and if Blake ever noticed and asked Bane knew he’d have to explain why a wealthy CEO had such a well-worn grip. But until then, he traced small circles into the back of Blake’s thumb and enjoyed the smoothness he found there.

Blake was the type to linger after a film had finished, stretching his arms above his head and humming pleasantly as he cracked his joints. Bane followed him out, remembering not to get too close now that there were lights on and people could see them once more. Once they both stood outside and Bane’s scarf was no longer a curious sight, Blake turned to him and smiled. “Do you want to head back to my place for coffee?”

“It would be unwise of you to drink caffeine so late at night,” signed Bane, then paused when Blake laughed softly. Bane frowned when the realization hit him. “I’ve reconsidered your proposition and I accept,” he signed, making John laugh all the more.

“Smooth save, big guy,” said Blake, then tugged on Bane’s sleeve. “Come on,” he said, and he led Bane down the sidewalk towards his apartment. Of course Ban already knew where Blake lived but he liked the idea of Blake inviting him instead of having to secretly break in during the day and investigate the inner rooms. The steps in Blake’s building were old and slanted but otherwise sturdy, which pleased Bane. Same with the walls and windows: worn but stable, safe. It wasn’t in the best neighborhood nor the richest, certainly, but Bane felt Blake could be relatively safe here. There was also a solid sounding lock on his door, several in fact, which also pleased Bane even though he _could_ kick the door in if he tried. It was something, and it was more than a lot of people had in this city.

“Sorry it’s so small. It’s practically nothing compared to the Manor, but I stay here most of the week for work,” said Blake, unbuttoning his coat and hanging it on a hook by the door. Bane followed his example and then caught Blake eyeing him from across the room.

“It’s lovely,” signed Bane. Then, figuring a bit of truth couldn’t hurt, he sighed again, “I’ve lived in far worse places.” At Blake questioning look, Bane elaborated with a half lie, “I haven’t always been wealthy, nor an American citizen.”

“The same way I haven’t always been the heir to a Fortune 500 company and 200 year old estate?” said Blake. Bane nodded. “Yeah, I get that. This place is pretty damn good for what I was expecting to live in growing up,” said Blake.

Blake led him into the kitchen and puttered around as Bane watched him. He was trying to decide what he wanted to make, coffee or hot chocolate. Bane preferred the chocolate, and said so. “Wait, are you going to have some?” Bane shook his head, and Blake looked downright crestfallen. “Right, sorry,” he said.

“It was polite of you to ask,” signed Bane, and Blake smiled before turning to the stove. He followed Bane’s suggestion and made chocolate instead of coffee, and Bane stood in the doorway watching him move about the kitchen until the kettle whistled and Blake had a hot mug in his hands.

“Couch?” said Blake, and Bane nodded and turned back into the living room. Bane’s heart beat in his chest when Blake leaned against him, sipping the hot chocolate, and all he could think about was trailing his fingers through the man’s short hair. Not one to hesitate, he trailed his fingers around Blake’s ear and rubbed the back of his scalp, watching intently as the man closed his eyes and hummed contentedly.

It continued until Blake’s cup was almost emptied, and Blake himself seemed drowsy, crowding close to Bane’s side and using him for warmth. Bane moved his hand to the back of Blake’s neck to rest there, gently, possessively, and Blake shivered, his fingers curling out and grasping at Bane’s clothes. “I thought you were trying to put me to sleep for a minute there,” said Blake, laughing softly, quietly. The sound was hushed, raw and beautiful.

Bane signed a simple “no” and Blake laughed again.

“Alright then, big guy, what do you have planned?” asked Blake, humour in his sleepy eyes. Ban took the cup out of his hand and set it down on the coffee table, and Blake went willingly when he was directed to lay back on the cushions. “I kept your tie, you know,” said Blake, coyly not meeting his eyes, “though it’s probably dirty by now.”

Bane resisted the urge to growl at the words, not unaffected. He presumed it would be this way no matter what Blake threw at him, even though Bane liked to consider himself prepared for any scenario. Blake was simply too honest in his passions and Bane could hear it in his words. It had been a long time since someone did not want to use him in one way or another. Blake had no hidden motives, raw and unadulterated not only in his desires but his words as well.

Leaning to loom over Blake, Bane caught the man’s eyes and held his chin to keep him centered. Blake’s legs were folded to one side, his torso twisted so he faced the ceiling and Bane as well, and his shirt had ridden up from the movement and the angle. “Where is it, you filthy thing?” signed Bane, and Blake grinned, his eyes hooded.

“My bedroom, in the drawer of the nightstand,” he said, jaw working underneath Bane’s heavy hand.

Bane brushed his thumb over Blake’s soft lips once before moving away from him and standing. “Do not move,” he signed, and Blake nodded, fighting a smile. Bane ignored him in favour of swiftly making his way to the bedroom, throwing open the drawer, and returning with his prize. Or to his prize, rather, as he found Blake spread out with a hand thrown over his eyes. It was that sort of blatant enthusiasm that made Bane’s hands twitch.

He pulled Blake’s hand away from his face and after a moment of hesitation Blake’s eyes fluttered open and stared up at him. Bane was awestruck by his dark eyes and stared back at him long enough that Blake started to blush and look away. Bane’s heart thumped but he ignored it. He would miss watching the blown pupils in Blake’s eyes after he put the blindfold over them, but he ignored that feeling too. “Do not hide your face, I enjoy your voice,” he signed, after he caught Blake’s eyes again. “What’s your safeword?”

“Daddy,” said Blake, his dimples impish.

Bane blinked, startled despite himself, then narrowed his eyes. “Care to try again?” he signed, one hand finding its place on the hinge of Blake’s jaw. Blake’s breath hitched and his eyes fluttered closed. Bane pressed experimentally, but sexual asphyxiation was not on his itinerary for the night so he saved the information for later.

“Blackgate,” said Blake, only a spark of humour left in his eyes. Bane accepted it as reasonable, however odd, and took both of Blake’s wrists in one hand. He pressed Blake’s arms back against the armrest behind his head, ignoring the grin on Blake’s face, and made a point of forcing the man to keep them still.

“You will do as I say?” he signed, leaving Blake’s hands unrestrained.

Blake nodded, then spoke when he remembered Bane’s instructions. “Yes, I will do as you say,” he said, grinning. “You gonna blindfold me again?” he asked, squirming on his back but not moving his hands from their place.

“I am going to tie you up,” signed Bane, and Blake’s eyes flared open with a newfound energy. Bane couldn’t help but smile at the reaction, the silk of his own tie slithering between his fingers and over his palms as Blake’s gaze tracked the movement. “And then I’m going to blindfold you,” he added, frustrated by his inability to add to the weight of these words with his hands alone. How he longed to use his voice to instruct Blake instead, but that would be counterintuitive given the deception he fought so hard to maintain.

“Yes,” said Blake, arm’s stretched taunt above his head as his muscles quivered and strained, wanting to move but not having the permission to do so. He was exquisite in his passion and his submission and Bane wanted him to know that, to never forget or downplay it, and he sought to tell him so thoroughly Blake would never be able to lay without another without remembering him and him alone. The possessiveness of this struck close to his heart, yet, like many things pertaining to Blake, Bane chose to push it to the background of his mind.

“Yes, so much yes,” said Blake, watching and anticipating as Bane took his wrists in one hand once again and set about tying a complex knot around them with the tie he had given Blake at the manor. It hadn’t been washed since then and Bane could only imagine what sort of debauchery Blake had put the fabric through. He was struck by the imagine of Blake wrapping the silk around his cock and thrust into it like he would his bare fist, and was startled to learn how enrapturing the idea really was. Even more so was the image of Blake with a tie knotted around the base of his cock, unable to find release until Bane bid it. Bane wanted both in the near future.

It shocked him how he began this night with the belief he would not sleep with Blake, no matter what the man said. How wrong he was, given the intimacy of their positions and Blake’s fine boned wrists in his hand, their fingers brushing. Bane knew he would want to rub the feeling back into Blake’s fingers after this was done, even if the knot he had tied was perfect in its strength without cutting off circulation. He simply wanted Blake’s hands in his for as long as possible, no matter the reason.

Hands secured, Bane leaned back and considered the man beneath him. Blake’s legs were loosely over Bane’s kneeling thighs, splayed for Blake’s own comfort despite the limited surface of the couch. One foot hung over the back of the couch, near Bane’s shoulder. “Are you comfortable?” asked Bane, now that his hands were free.

“I’ll tell you if I’m not,” said Blake, smiling and tugging at the knot, testing Bane’s craftsmanship. Bane was proud when the knot did not fail, or even give the man any wiggle room. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” asked Blake.

“In a way,” signed Bane, unable to hold back his smile.

“You’re good at it,” said Blake, turning his eyes up to his wrists. “I couldn’t get out of this if I tried,” he said, and for a moment Bane saw a flash of panic in his dark eyes. Bane would have to tread carefully, to choose his words with intent. He did not want to ruin their evening, or lose any ground he’s gained in this endeavor, or hurt Blake’s heart. Bane lied to himself about the importance of each of those reasons compared to the others.

“You merely have to say so and I will free you,” signed Bane, trying to convey the seriousness of this. He needed Blake to trust him, to rely on him, for many reasons. One of them, of course, was his mission and his endgame, but the others lay closer to Bane’s heart than he was willing to admit. “You can refuse my actions at any moment,” he signed, making sure Blake saw his hands.

“I know,” said Blake, his breathing deep and controlled, “I want to do this,” he said. “For the both of us,” he added, and Bane had no time to wonder how much of his admiration for this young man showed to the object of his affections, to wonder how see-through his intentions really were, before Blake shifted his hips up and ground against the bulge of Bane’s pants. Bane had hardly been aware of his own physical arousal until Blake had brushed it, and suddenly his pants were no longer comfortable. If he wanted to continue with his plans, he would either have to be free of the constraint or commit far more mental power to ignoring it.

Bane nodded, then slipped the second tie around Blake’s face, covering his eyes. Blake’s lips trembled as Bane secured the knot behind his head and tested the tightness by slipping his fingers in between the fabric and Blake’s hair. Then he tugged his scarf away from his mouth and leaned down to cover Blake’s mouth with his own, breathing a sigh of relief at the contact and the enthusiasm Blake responded with. Straining against his ties, Blake groaned when Bane kept him from following the kiss as Bane pulled away.  “Fuck, more of that,” said Blake, his voice already scratchy. Bane swept his hands down the front of his body in response, large hands running from his neck to his thighs and claiming ownership of everything in between. He longed to say “mine” but had no way of doing so without the night grinding to a halt, so Bane communicated with his hands.

He snapped the button of Blake’s jeans while biting at the skin of his hipbones, dragging the pants down and off without moving his mouth away. There was a chance Blake could open his eyes and look down and see Bane from such an angle, but Bane didn’t worry about that now. Blake’s mouth gaped open, his breath coming in gasps. “Fuck, Dorrance,” said Blake, his fingers curling and uncurling. It was a small matter to pull Blake’s boxers away as well, his eyes set upon the curve of Blake’s cock against his belly and the way it leaked without any contact. He gripped Blake’s hips and trailed bites over his inner thighs just to hear him gasp and feel his legs quiver and jump with each new mark.

“I can’t believe-,” said Blake, his back bowing sharply and his breath hissing between his teeth when Bane wrapped a tight fist around his cock and tugged, “fuck, shit!” Bane chuckled, forcing the sound to remain low and undeveloped in the back of his throat. “Can I- your face?” asked Blake, and Bane almost frowned before he saw the way Blake’s arms moved down and his fingers stretched out, searching for him. Bane hummed, just enough that Blake knew he would allow it, and at once Blake’s fingers were exploring his face the best he could manage with his wrists tied together. Bane kissed each fingertip presented to him, knowing Blake could feel the scars over his lips and also knowing the man’s heart was big enough to –figuratively- look past them. Blake cupped his jaw and led him into another kiss, one that lasted longer than the last and held all their mutual desperation.

“I wish,” said Blake, between breathing hard and dancing his tongue into Bane’s mouth and the strokes of Bane’s fist that keep him on edge, “I want to see you,” he said, and for once Bane’s heart did not seize in concern. It seemed like a natural progression of their relationship, to bare their skins and learn to love each other’s imperfections. “You’ve seen all of me,” said Blake. “Most of me,” he amended, grinning, no doubt meaning the shirt that still hung from his arms and the undone buttons warming against the skin of his ribs. One of his nipples was on full display and Bane wanted to worship it, but only after he worshipped Blake’s cock.

“I’m not letting this go,” said Blake, but all the same he let Bane move away from his mouth and make his way down to his cock. Bane took it into his mouth all in one go, and Blake shouted “fuck!” so loudly there was no way his neighbors would not complain. He moaned so loudly too, much to Bane’s delight, that in any other situation Bane would worry about an impending knock on the door. “You- I can’t-” said Blake, his fingers curled tight into the shoulders of Bane’s sweater. Bane hummed around his member, letting his tongue do the work and willfully ignore the sparks of pain that lighted on his lips from the stretch. Blake felt heavy against the back of his throat but Blake’s reactions were well worth the strain, and Bane enjoyed being the one to pull such noises from him. It didn’t last long, one moment Blake was thrusting little circles into Bane’s mouth and the next he was swearing and pulling at Bane’s clothing as if to keep him from his prize. Bane popped off and let Blake paint his own stomach, watching with fully trained eyes and a full knowing he would lick the spoils away from Blake’s skin and enjoy the taste of semen and sweat combined. Blake panted, unaware of Bane’s plans, as he came down from his high. Bane did not give him any rest, immediately targeting the shaking muscles of his abdomen and cleaning away the mess.

“Fuck, what-,” said Blake, his throat rough from his noises, his hands weak from his orgasm. His limbs unraveled from Bane’s body and his arms fell back over the arm rest behind his head, and Bane glanced up only long enough to appreciate the view of having Blake spread out and utterly wrecked underneath him, before he returned to his task. He held Blake’s hips and refused to let him squirm away, ignoring his protests and his questions until he deemed Blake’s stomach clean enough and moved instead to conquer the man’s mouth. Blake’s voice was muffled by a sweet moan at the taste of himself on Bane’s tongue, and beneath his hips Bane felt Blake’s cock twitch in interest and he vowed to remember this in the future. He also became painfully aware of his own erection pressing against the seam of his pants and pulled away, gritting his teeth.

“What about you?” said Blake, as if he was a mind reader. Or perhaps he simply cared about reciprocity. Bane glanced down at his pants, then at the man below him, and an idea sparked in his mind. He cupped Blake’s jaw in his hand and forced his mouth open wide, sinking two fingers in to see what Blake would do in response. Blake groaned and took them in with fervor, craning up to pull more of Bane’s digits into his mouth. It was hot and wet and Bane couldn’t wait to have it all around him and cradling him to completion, but he let Blake savour it like it was his last act before God. His groans lay deep in his throat and were lost beneath the overwhelming sound and vibration of Blake himself moaning, a scared prayer on his lips but Bane’s knuckles in the away.

Blake brought his hands down from above his head slowly, the hesitation in his movements an unspoken question for permission. Meeting no resistance or reprimand, he wrapped his long fingers around Bane’s wrists and guided his movements until Bane was thrusting into Blake’s mouth, his fingers wet and cold and each return gliding like silk over the velvet of Blake’s tongue. It took every endurance training and the recital of every ritual rite he knew repeated over and over in his head not to groan and spit filthy adoring words into Blake’s ear. He was an angel, a sacred blessing from the grace of Gods long passed in human form, and it took all Bane had not to fall to his knees before this man and confess his sins. He would worship Blake, in this form or any other, for as long as the man let him.  

This act continued for as long as Bane could handle, and it would have spanned on longer if Blake had only insisted given how weak Bane was to his passion for it. All at once, however, Bane pulled his hand away and Blake gasped, breathless, and then said, “give me your cock.” Bane guided him down to the floor beneath his knees, only pausing long enough to set a pillow beneath him so he would not grow uncomfortable, and then placed his hands on either side of Blake’s jaw. Blake grinned, his dimples in full bloom, and lay his own hands over Bane’s. “You’re either going to have unzip your own pants or move so I can do it for you,” said Blake. It took a minute before Bane choose between the two, and Blake pressed forward after Bane’s hands left him and he heard the sound of Bane’s zipper a few seconds later. He look positively impatient to get his lips around Bane’s cock head, going as far as to cradle it on the top of his tongue and suck just to get a taste. “Fuck,” he mumbled, then filled his mouth as he went back for more.

Bane gave him time to work up to the entire length, and even then Blake could only take him to the root for a few seconds at a time before he began to gag and the sensation was too much. Bane had no business enjoying the idea of Blake not doing this with anyone else, and given Blake’s beauty and wariness he doubted that was the case, but he thought of it and smiled despite himself. Blake made use of his tied hands by curling his fingers around the base of Bane’s sizeable cock to cover what he could not easily reach. There was a few times were his teeth grazed over a vein and Bane hissed deeply but found he did not completely dislike the pain. It was typical of him to be abnormal, why not in this as well. Barsad would surely laugh at him for such a reaction.

“Do you want to come on my face,” said Blake, pulling back so his mouth gaped open, ready and waiting in front of the tip of Bane’s cock, “or in my mouth?” He moved forward again to ghost his lips against the slit, his tongue peeking out from between his lips –and how Bane loved those lips, if he hadn’t before this—to tease it. Bane grit his against the onslaught but otherwise had no way of telling Blake what he desired. He moved one of his thumbs to rest alongside Blake’s mouth and its place of power over his orgasm. “Do you want to claim me for a few minutes or do you want to claim me for a few days? Should I wear your mark on my skin or feel it in my belly?” Blake was grinning now, no doubt liking the tinge of control that came with sucking a man’s cock to completion. Bane wanted to see that playfulness in him forever after this, for it to become a permanent feature in Blake’s life. All because of him.

“Or… do you want a bit of both?” said Blake, lapping at the crown of his cock like he wouldn’t mind making every day conversation with the taste of it on his tongue like bitter afternoon coffee or sharp after dinner whiskey. Bane could not attempt to speak through the onslaught of Blake’s sudden vigor as the man began to suck in earnest, but his approval came out in a long harsh “fffff” sound, the beginnings of a word he could not say because of his own web of lies but found desperately appropriate in such a situation. Declarations of love would also fit, but those would have to wait until later.

Ultimately, Bane shot over Blake’s tongue and cheeks, and Blake panted like that was what he wanted all along. Bane wouldn’t blame him, if so. He was reluctant to move so soon after his orgasm but Blake was crawling into his lap and wrapping his arms around Bane’s shoulders, sharing the taste of his orgasm with Bane himself in a kiss Bane would never forget. “Where’d you even come from?” said Blake, but Bane didn’t believe he actually wanted an answer with the way he attacked and overcame Bane’s tongue with his own. Blake’s body was already responding to him again, if the growing hardness against his own was any indication. Bane thought this would be a perfect place to end their evening despite how much he wished to linger and guide Blake through another round. He leaned back and Blake didn’t follow, taking the time to catch his breath. Bane lay his scarf over his mouth again and promptly tugged the tie from Blake’s eyes. Blake looked always disappointed but did not voice his feelings, so Bane figured the argument could wait until another day. He would bide his time and ignore the way his loyalty was slowly being torn in two ways.

“Satisfactory?” signed Bane, now that Blake could see his hands once again.

Blake grinned. “Do you have to ask?” he said, grinding down in Bane’s lap. “I’m never letting you go after this,” he added, letting his head fall forward and rest on Bane’s shoulder. It was clear the man was exhausted after the day and their activities, so Bane gripped Blake’s hips and stood, taking Blake with him. “Taking me to bed finally?” said Blake, wrapping his legs around Bane’s hips, but his grogginess betrayed him. Bane smiled, fonder than he would ever admit. He lay Blake down on the sheets and set to tugging the knot free from his wrists. Blake rolled over on his side and Bane sat beside him, large hands rubbing at the marks on Blake’s skin under they disappeared and Blake seemed almost asleep with half lidded eyes. “Thank you,” said Blake, and Bane huffed a breath in response. He stood and retrieved a damp cloth from the small bathroom off the bedroom to wipe Blake down with so he wouldn’t wake up sticky.

“You didn’t have to do that,” said Blake, and Bane saw the return of shame to his eyes. It had no business there, certainly not in Bane’s presence, so he learned down and covered Blake’s eyes with a large palm, and bit the skin of Blake’s shoulder so it would last.

Blake was grinning when Bane let him see again. “You’re just a big brat,” said Blake.

“And you are a small brat,” signed Bane, pulling the covers up to Blake’s waist. “Sleep, and I will lock the door before I go.”

“Won’t you stay?” asked Blake, worry in his eyes that Bane wanted to wipe away immediately.

“Not tonight,” signed Bane, “but I will see you very soon, Officer Blake.”

“You can call me John, you know,” said Blake, his eyes barely open against the onslaught of sleep.

“Not until I fuck you in uniform,” signed Bane as he stood. Blake’s eyes flared open in interest.

“Oh fuck you, you can’t say that and leave,” he whined, even as Bane headed for the door.

“Sleep well, Officer Blake,” signed Bane, then turned his back on Blake half-bared with the fingers of one hand curled around a silk tie and the other twisting his own nipple. Robin John Blake was a sex starved creature, wriggling and desperate and demanding and all Bane’s for the taking. The lines between sexual gratification and romantic attachment blurred even before he had seen Blake naked and keening for touch, but now Bane feared, as he closed the front door him and listened to it lock behind, that perhaps he was in over his head.   


	6. Help Me See The Sun Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which both Bane and I get wRECKED

Bane returned to his quarters after his walk of shame. He could sense Barsad watching him from a distance but the sniper did not approach into Bane was well into the entryway and had already begun taking off his coat. Talia was bereft of her own apartment, where they had agreed to meet in the morning. Bane assumed she was out with Wayne, as she did not tell him of any other business she had to attend to, and left it at that. There was no reason for him to worry unnecessarily when she was a perfectly capable and self-controlled woman.

“Speak what is on your mind, brother, do not creep from the shadows,” said Bane, his voice gentle. He had not spoken in almost a day, but he had kept silence for far longer before. Prolonged separation from his mask made his throat sensitive, and he would don the mask after he placated his stomach.

“This is where I am most suited,” said Barsad, from somewhere above Bane on the balcony.

“I would wish to see you, though your voice does soothe me, as to be expected,” said Bane. He would not press the matter if Barsad preferred to keep his distance, though he did not know for what reason. He heard footsteps and knew Barsad was merely allowing him to hear his path down the stairs. Barsad joined in the kitchen, though he lingered at the base of the staircase. “Something plagues your mind,” said Bane, “you have been thinking for quite a while. I can see it in your eyes.”

“Adding face reading to your list of skills now? Are palms to come after?” said Barsad, and Bane could not decipher his tone. He could be poking fun, or he could be lashing out. Bane didn’t like not knowing what worried his closest brother; this rarely happened since they had known each other. One reason they were so accomplished together in work was because they were compatible on an emotional level, they complemented each other. After many years, Bane liked to think he knew Barsad better than any other. But he was lost in this.

“Speak plainly and tell me what upsets you,” said Bane.

“You had sex,” said Barsad, and Bane frowned.

“I did,” said Bane. “It was consensual,” he added, because it was important and it was the only reason he could think of to prompt Barsad’s behaviour.

“You tricked him,” said Barsad. “You lied to that boy, used his heart.”

Bane stilled, and then turned to meet Barsad’s incriminating stare. “That was the plan, was it not? You did not believe I would follow through with my words? Blake is to be used for our purposes. If that breaks his heart, then so be it,” he said, and his tongue was heavy as if the words were untrue. He refused to believe it was so.

“There is no reason to be exceptionally cruel about it,” said Barsad, growing impassioned in a way Barsad rarely was.

“I do not break everything I touch,” said Bane, ashamed to admit there was venom in his words as he spit them in Barsad’s direction. “If you cannot believe that and merely assume the worst of me, then you are not as observant as I believed.”

“I sat here and listened to Talia muse on each and every way you would break Blake, as if she garnered some sort of enjoyment from the thought! You cannot tell me you are not feeding into her desires just to please her,” said Barsad.

“I’m not,” said Bane, and Barsad drew back, staring at him. Before the man could say anything in retaliation, Bane said, “what did Talia say?”

“That… it is not important now. Simply, you are not following her plan?”

“Simply and truly, I am doing what she originally requested of me. Blake is to be used for information, not as a chew toy,” said Bane.

Barsad’s bravado seemed to deflate, and Bane dared to step towards him and reach out. Barsad said nothing but allowed Bane to guide him to the couch in the other room. They sat down together and Bane placed his hand on Barsad’s knee. “You did not trust me,” said Bane, straight to the heart of the matter.

Barsad did not speak for a while. Minutes passed and Bane’s stomach threatened to complain audibly, but still he did not move from his spot. He needed to hear this from Barsad himself, to not brush over the issue like nothing had happened. To doubt each other meant death in their world, there could be no cracks in the trust that kept them alive and ahead of their enemies.

“You… have changed since we came to Gotham,” said Barsad. Bane did not pressure him to continue, as much as he wanted to. Barsad spoke in his own time, on his own terms. “Your heart leads you down a path you have never travelled. I see change in Talia as well, she unravels as we sit idle. I fear you are both playing off each other’s ambitions, but your goals conflict.”

His question must have shown plain on his face, because Barsad glanced up and immediately elaborated. “You say you are willing to follow Talia no matter her orders, but you underestimate the power of love.”

 “I do not love Blake,” said Bane, batting the idea away before it could take root in his mind. He stood and headed back to the kitchen to find something to eat.

“Your actions say otherwise,” said Barsad, cutting away his defenses. “He possesses a fire we have only seen once before, and you denied that love once as well.”

Bane froze. “Blake cannot even compare to Talia,” he said.

“And yet you find in him what you have always sought from her,” said Barsad, coming to stand at his back. He reached out and touched the tips of his fingers against the scars of Bane’s back, tracing the lines of them through Bane’s clothes. “There was a time when you confused your feelings for her and came to me, mind in turmoil. You kneeled before me and sought my hands to banish them away. You healed from the poison, but you also developed an immunity against the condition itself.”

“That was many years ago,” said Bane, “I was foolish then.”

“And you are foolish now, that is what love does,” said Barsad, giving him no room to avoid the matter. “You may fool Talia because she is distracted by her own tasks, but my eyes remain fixed on you, as they have always been.” Bane sighed, and Barsad edged closer, close enough to wrap his arms around Bane’s waist and draw him close. Barsad’s head could only rest on his shoulder blade but his voice was clear when he spoke again, the sound of it rumbling against Bane’s back. “I would not see you throw this happiness away without embracing it fully,” he said, and Bane closed his eyes.

“What would you have me do? We have a mission, brother, one we will not abandon for individualist aspirations,” he said, but did not move to shrug Barsad away despite his words. It felt good to have his brother so close again after many weeks of distance between them. Barsad was sparing and gentle with his displays of affection, especially around company. Even with only Talia in the room with them, Barsad would assume the role of loyal disciple in the presence of two dark messiahs. He would kneel before them and only speak when spoken to, and while Bane indulged him in that role as often as Barsad insisted upon it, he would have the man as an equal than a follower.

However, Barsad was often humbled in both mind and body by Bane’s presence, he had once confessed this to Bane himself as they laid next to each other, skin flushed and breath shallow. Bane had learned that Barsad enjoyed being brought to heel upon occasion, and only Bane’s broad hands would do. The disparity between their roles was easily embraced following this confession, and doing so allowed Barsad to venture from his comfort zone without risking feelings of betrayal or insubordination. Barsad belonged to Bane in many ways, just as Bane belonged to Barsad in turn, just as Barsad would bow to Bane on some matters and Bane to him on others. Who was Bane to refuse this man, his brother, his pupil, the chance to speak his mind on a topic Bane had no knowledge of himself?

“It is not selfish to love someone,” said Barsad, “and Talia would say the same were she here and in right her mind.”

“To favour Blake would jeopardize everything we have worked for in this puss of a city,” said Bane.

“And yet, if Gotham itself is a cancer, then Blake is your cure,” said Barsad, and he pulled away. He had already escaped the room by the time Bane had turned to follow him.

“Speak plainly,” said Bane, repeating himself from earlier. While Bane shared the habit, Barsad speaking in riddles would get them nowhere. But after a few minutes Bane heard the door to the bathroom upstairs, and he knew Barsad would not speak of it again for the rest of the night. He turned back to the fridge and made himself something to eat that he felt would not send his stomach into a twist from its preservatives and added fats and sugars. Barsad only returned to him after he had brushed his teeth and moved to put the mask on.

“I would see you without this, always,” said Barsad, towel from his shower around his shoulders.

“It will never be, do not linger upon the thought,” said Bane, tipping his head forward to allow Barsad to clasp the mask for him and tighten it on. The metal creaked and groaned from the force of his brother’s grip, but Bane did not flinch.

“You are quite handsome without it marring your skin,” said Barsad, a teasing lilt returned to his voice. Bane chuckled.

“You say this as if you find me ugly with it,” said Bane, and Barsad smiled before pressing his forehead to the cool metal covering Bane’s own.

“I do not care what you look like. You are more beautiful in your passion and in your strength and I would follow you anywhere, to any end,” said Barsad, and Bane closed his eyes for fear they were gleam with tears. Barsad rarely spoke more than he needed to, but he always had a way with words when he did.

“You flatter me, brother,” said Bane. “But your words hold an edge of sorrow, what’s on your mind?” he said, and took hold of Barsad’s hands for a brief moment before the man pulled away.

“It’s not important, don’t let me distract you,” said Barsad.

Bane smiled. “From what, brother? My bedtime?”

“Your mission,” said Barsad, once again serious. “I cloud your mind, and it is not my place.”

“You never cared about place at the best of times,” said Bane, and yet he stood and pulled his shirt over his head and threw it into the hamper. Barsad pulled back the covers on his side of the bed and disappeared beneath them save for his damp hair. Bane crawled into bed and laid with his back to the man, wondering if any words said from that point on would fall on deaf ears. He vowed to try anyway. “You hint at treacherous thoughts, and your words are ambiguous to the point of insult… but I cannot help but feel compelled to listen. You say things… If you deem it necessary to raise your voice, I would hear it.”

They lay still long enough for Bane to believe Barsad had fallen asleep and the answer would not come till morning, if at all. He froze, then, when Barsad rolled to face him and put his hand on Bane’s back, where the scars from long ago lingered despite time healing all wounds as the saying went. He rarely thought about his back unless it ached, and it rarely did with such potent Venom pulsing through his veins. It made him strong, kept him nearly invulnerable to pain, and yet in many ways it hindered him. Kept him alive, yes, for which he was grateful, and kept him impassioned. He would never forget his past with venom, his killer and his curse, pumping from his heart with every beat.

“I would not have this lonely life for you forever, brother,” said Barsad, his fingers tracing the scars on Bane’s skin. “Before this… I had a family. If you chose to never stray from this path then so be it, but I know this is not all there is to life.”

Bane laid there and thought about his words for a long time. Barsad’s hand kept moving on his shoulders, letting him know the man was still awake should he desire to answer. It took him time and in the end, he didn’t even find the right words. “The mission will continue,” he said, and Barsad pulled his hand away after a few seconds, but otherwise gave no reaction. Bane fell asleep feeling as if he had let Barsad down like never before.

\--

Bane entered the Gotham Stock Exchange with a helmet on his head and his men deep within its system. Getting in was simpler than he had believed possible, and within minutes he brought Wayne’s empire crashing down around him. The escape was well planned and executed perfectly and he would thank Barsad for thinking up some of the finer details with the motorbikes. The appearance of Bruce Wayne resuming his role as Batman was just the cherry on top, and Bane would have to thank the man for distracting the entire police force so efficiently next time they met. Overall, Bane was pleased and it showed.

He returned to the sewers with a fire burning in his veins and building anticipation for the next step in the plan. Talia would assume her role as Wayne’s White Knight and the man would trust her with his company. Gotham would realize people they once trusted were the very spores infecting them, and Bane would no longer be a terrorist, but a liberator. Talia would assume her role as their shining messiah, leading them towards a better future. He eagerly awaited the day and hoped Talia would call him soon with news of Wayne’s company.

He found Barsad in his private quarters, sitting at Bane’s desk looking over a map of the city. His sharp eyes would never forget any of the small details, Bane knew, one of the reasons Bane entrusted the smaller details to him over any other. “Brother,” said Bane, mirth in his voice, “ever studious.” He was clearly in a good mood, to be teasing the man so.

In lieu of anything else, a quip or a greeting perhaps, or even turning to look at Bane, Barsad said, “Our men on the police force say that Robin John Blake was at the stock exchange this morning.”

Bane froze, his mind flitting to several different things all at once. Swallowing back the urge to ask if Officer Blake was alright, Bane instead said, “a necessary risk.”

“He was also in the car chase,” said Barsad, “and was there when the Batman escaped police custody. Word is he drove the Deputy Commission who called for the arrest of the Batman personally.”

Bane was at a loss of how to respond properly. To express his concern for Blake’s safety would no doubt upset Barsad and trigger another lecture about love. Bane did not know if he loved Robin John Blake, but in the face of his mission with the League, it was hardly relevant. Barsad was still hanging onto his past life, something that was usually trained out of new recruits but somehow never ruined the man from within. He shut his door behind him, a clear message not to disturb them unless deemed an emergency, and sat down on the edge of his bed. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he admitted, clasping his hands together with his elbows on his knees.

“He texted you earlier. It seemed urgent,” said Barsad, and tossed the flip phone in Bane’s direction. “Wayne is bankrupt, and lashing out those closest to him. Blake is alone, and he’s scared,” said Barsad. He stood and made for the door, and left without another word.

Bane took the phone and read the messages.

[Officer Blake, 21:34.10] _A lot of shit went down today. Is there any time we could meet up? I kind of really need you right now :(_

[Officer Blake, 21:36.56] _Obviously if you’re busy that’s fine. Text me back when you get this, I won’t be falling asleep anytime soon._

Bane stared and felt a strange sense of guilt. There was no doubt what Blake was upset about, and Bane had caused it. He didn’t feel guilty for doing it, per say, only that _he_ had been the one responsible and Blake was suffering because of Bane and what he stood for. Still, sacrifices had to be made in Bane’s world, and the victory was only slightly spoilt from this new revelation.

He typed quickly, glancing at the time as he did. [You, 22:45.57] _Are you still awake, John?_

The response was immediate. [Officer Blake, 22:47.23] _Yes! Thank fck you got my message. Are you free?_

[You, 22:48.45] _I can be at your apartment in 20 minutes._

[Officer Blake, 22:50.11] _Fuck yes come here, I don’t care what we do I just want you here._

Bane stood and changed out of his biking gear and took a few minutes to shower and change. Then he donned his overcoat and went. Blake answered his door at the second knock and didn’t even bother welcoming Bane through the door before he launched into the bigger man’s arms and held him close. “I was afraid you wouldn’t answer,” said Blake, and Bane allowed the hold to last for a few minutes despite the fact his back was exposed to the hallway. Blake’s apartment wasn’t the most secure of places for Bane to spend his time, but it wasn’t the least either. That didn’t mean he wanted to tempt fate, however, so after a delay he pushed them both through the door and closed it behind them.

He pushed Blake back to arm’s length so he could communicate. “What happened?” he signed, and Blake sighed, a hand running through his hair. He took to pacing in front of the couch as Bane sat, hands in his lap, and waited for the truth he already knew.

“Alfred kept some things from Bruce and Bruce basically kicked him out. Technically Alfred chose to leave, but Bruce won’t admit that. He won’t talk to me at all, actually, and he told me not to come back to the manor. He’s bankrupt now, did you hear? I had to give him a ride back to the estate in my cruiser. That terrorist completely ruined him overnight…” he trailed off here, and Bane had a feeling this was where Blake’s mind ran through all the connections between Bruce Wayne and Batman and the real reason Bane would target one of the richest men in Gotham. But that would mean not only admitting that Bruce was Batman in front of Bane but also that there was a possibility, however far-fetched, that someone out there also knew Wayne’s secret identity. Bane had a feeling this was too much for Blake’s pride to handle, even if there had been no connection between Blake and Wayne.

“What does this mean for you?” signed Bane, and Blake looked down at his own hands.

“My accounts weren’t touched, I’m fine… just… exhausted, emotionally and physically,” he said, and Bane saw for the first time the redness of his eyes. He paused for only a moment before foregoing words and instead raising a beckoning hand for Blake to take. Blake put his hand Bane’s larger one and let himself be guided down next to him on the couch. He tucked his feet underneath him and curled in close to Bane’s side, and Bane wrapped an arm around his back. His free hand went to Blake’s for the man to hold unto and focus his attention on. Blake’s slender fingers toyed with Bane’s, rubbing over scars and calluses instead of saying anything more. They sat in silence and Bane rubbed comforting circles on Blake’s back. The close contact between is selfishly soaked up by them both; though Bane would never admit, perhaps it was not a celebration he needed after an adrenaline filled victory, but downtime. There were few people Bane could allow himself to relax around in such a way, it was mildly startling for him to recognize that he included Blake in that number not out of necessity, but out of genuine need.

After a long time just curled up on the couch together, Bane removed his hands and stood. “Come to bed with me,” he said, and Blake smiled a small smile at the humour. Bane led him to the bedroom and slowly undressed him, replacing his jeans with pajama pants and slipping a clean, loose t-shirt over his head. Bane also undressed, but didn’t take his scarf off his face until Blake flicked off the bedside lamp. Confident he would wake up before Blake had the chance, or not sleep much at all, Bane let the scarf fall to the floor alongside his other clothes.

Blake’s apartment was small yes but it also had quite a few windows to let in natural light. Gotham nights weren’t at all dark and starry but the street lights below and the skyscrapers looming overhead blocks away did enough to cast light into the room, onto the floor and over the bed covers. It wasn’t enough to worry Bane, who may see better in the dark but knew most couldn’t. Blake could probably see rough details, but the setting was in no way reliable enough for the man to identify him as a suspect. That, and Blake was used to seeing Bane with his face covered, so the first appearance that came to mind when questioned would be that one, not whatever profile view Blake saw late one night in his low lit apartment. Blake scooched closer and wrapped a leg over Bane’s, resting his chin on Bane’s chest, and stared intently enough that, for a moment, Bane wanted to believe Blake could see all of him and he was not found wanting. It was doubtful that, should a situation that bared all came to pass, Blake would never want another look at Bane. That didn’t keep Bane from daydreaming, however.

“I’ve never seen your nose,” said Blake, and one of his hands raised to trace fingertips over the curve of it. “It looks like you broke it a lot.” Bane huffed a breath, doing his best to convey his humour about the subject, and was rewarded with the sight of Blake’s dimples on full display in the shallow light. It was more a shine of teeth and the sound of lips parting that hinted him towards their presence, but Bane could picture them in his head without trouble. “I haven’t seen your lips either,” he said, laughing a bit, his breath on Bane’s bare chest. “Despite the fact I’ve kissed them.” He pressed closer, his face hovering close to Bane’s, and stared. Bane stared back, his breath slow and deep and his throat strangely dry. Nerves danced in his belly and in his veins and he didn’t know what to make of it. He was waiting for Blake to do something. “Despite the fact I’ve fucked them,” said Blake, and he leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to Bane’s lips. Bane met him delicately, as if afraid to scare the man away.

They kissed for what felt like hours, slowly exploring and committing the details to memory. Bane learned, accidentally, that Blake had a chipped tooth, and no doubt Blake found the scars on the inside of his mouth. But they said nothing, and Bane was sure, somewhere in his heart, that he’d hold that moment close and consider it one of his most precious for the rest of his life. Blake was soft and warm and living beneath his palms and he could feel the man’s heartbeat against his ribs, mere inches from his own, and was humbled by the beauty of the man he was not only given permission to hold, but to enjoy and worship at will. Blake had yet to push him away, not once, and, for a moment, Bane could believe that he would never do such a thing, no matter the circumstances. The idea burned in his chest, dangerously close to his heart.

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” said Blake, and Bane almost laughed at the irony of his words. It should’ve been Bane to speak them, not Blake. It was Bane who felt like laying his life down at the shrine of this angel, this lover of the damaged and the damned, and yet Blake thought he was the lucky one? Bane would fight any man who dared say they were deserving of Blake, and thus had no conceptions of worthiness for himself. Bane shook his head and raised his hands to hold both sides of Blake’s face, and brought his lips closer from where they hovered over his own, Blake’s breath fanning over Bane’s cheek, and pressed their foreheads together. It was a light touch, one he rarely traded with those closest to him. He did not care to think why he would share it with Blake, but it felt natural in a way not completely foreign to him. He trusted the man he held in his arms but he knew now, after denying it to Barsad and Talia and even himself, that he loved him too. It was not quite the same love he held for Barsad and not quite the same love he held for Talia, but not altogether different from either.  As a result, his regret for upsetting Blake grew and grew with each passing second that Blake said nothing. Bane had no way of apologizing without revealing himself, which also pained him greatly. He by no means wanted to stop the revolution he had worked towards, but couldn’t ignore how he lied to Blake with a clean conscience. He was, as Talia would say it, at an impasse.

Blake didn’t confess his love for Bane on the spot. Situational and societal taboo and probably a fair amount of nerves kept the man from saying the meaning implied in his words. Perhaps, Bane mused, Blake was simply not at that level yet. The possibility of inequality in the relationship scared Bane, but he brushed the thought away immediately. He had portrayed himself as the perfect partner for Robin John Blake specifically, sometimes sacrificing his own genuine character to better fit the mold: there was no way Blake was not attached him, confession or no. Blake was in love with at least a version of Bane, if not his whole being. But even with the mold casted, there were many parts of himself Bane had not needed to abandon to play house. His wit and his words stayed with him, even if his words did not. His physical attraction to both Blake in his purest form and the man’s sexual fetishes was not faked either, even if his physical being was a lie. His compulsion to protect Blake, to cradle the flame of the man’s spirit and keep it thriving against the elements, was nothing but sincere.

As Barsad pointed out in not so many words and certainly not intentionally, this authenticity would be Bane’s ruin. Even if Bane did follow through on his mission and it all worked out, as he was sure it would, Blake would never want to see him again –if the man was even still alive, given his proximity to the Batman and to the GCPD- once he connected Bane to the problem. Hiding his face was a half-attempt at keeping that connection from ever happening, but even if recognition were avoided, Bane would never be able to go back to Blake knowing he had stripped him everything he had ever loved and believed in. His tenacity in the matter could not be broken and Bane had previously summed it up to unhindered naivety, but that was before he had read the man’s story from Barsad’s computer in neat little folders. [Blake, Robin: Age 1-12], [Blake, Robin: Parent’s Death], [Blake, Robin: St. Swithin’s], [Blake, Robin: Wayne Heir], complete with musing notes and newspaper clippings and stolen city files; Barsad was nothing if not thorough. He would have to speak to the man when his attention was not focused on different matters and his legs not intertwined with Blake’s.

“You’re thinking pretty hard,” said Blake, and Bane could not deny it. Instead, he pressed his hand to Blake’s chest, in between their hearts, and used the other to roll the man over unto his back. He paused, waiting for permission and consent but all Blake did was grab his wrist and thumb over the thin skin there, over the hot veins leading into his palm and the tendons that flexed minutely as Bane pressed his fingers to Blake’s heartbeat. If he wished, Bane could’ve pulled his fist back and drove it right through Blake’s sternum. He could have squeezed his fingers around Blake’s heart and felt it beat frantically as the adrenaline fought to keep the man alive. But the very thought made him almost sick to his stomach, and instead he moved his hand up to Blake’s neck and kept his chin still so he could lean down and kiss him. Blake’s legs parted on either side of his hips and hooked around his back, and Bane took this as silent permission to continue. The kiss was chaste, just as the last one, and they moved slowly against each other, hands roaming as Bane loomed over Blake’s body. Blake’s sounds were soft against Bane’s mouth as the man appreciated the various contours of Bane’s muscles and paid special attention places he hadn’t been able to touch freely.  

Bane had always admired the leanness of Blake’s body compared to his own and he took the opportunity to find slim grooves he could wrap his fingers around and squeeze as if checking the solidity of the man beneath him. He felt Blake’s muscles stretch and flex and tested the softness of his skin and lower stomach where a bit of fat lingered. Compared to Blake, and just about everyone else, Bane was all hard lines and old wounds. He wasn’t lean or soft by any means, thighs thick and hairy, arms and torso bulky and in no way innately fast or sneaky in the way he often was. But Blake found no reason to push him away and Bane reveled in the acceptance he rarely enjoyed. Blake drew his hands up Bane’s back and lingered on the scars going up his spine and Bane froze, breath caught in his throat. Blake paused only for a second before moving his hands to Bane’s shoulders. “Shh, no it’s okay, I don’t mind,” said Blake, catching his lips for a second and pulling him closer. “We all have stories,” he said against Bane’s lips. “The past doesn’t have to interfere with the present,” said Blake, and Bane could have wept at the relief the words brought him.

They kissed again, still slow and still tender and still everything Bane had ever needed. Blake carefully kept his hands away from Bane’s spine and the back of his neck, instead grabbing onto his bicep and his jaw when he needed to guide him. With his spare hand he reached to his nightstand and fought with the handle before pulling it open and presenting Bane with a half-empty tube. “I can do it... if you’d rather not,” said Blake, “but it’s easier with your angle and… I’ve been dreaming about you doing this for weeks now.” Then he turned his head slightly to the side in a way to be taken as coy in any other situation, but Bane saw it for the shame it was. Refusing to let it fester in Blake’s mind any longer, Bane kissed the shame away, attempting to chase it away with his mouth and tongue. Bracing himself on one arm, he took the tube with spare hand and popped the cap with his thumb, bring his hand down around Blake’s hip. His fingers wet with the lube he parted Blake’s ass cheeks and found his hole. It occurred to him, briefly, that they were both emotionally compromised in equal but different measures and this was not the ideal time to share something so intimate. The thought was replaced with another, this one proclaiming that was precisely _why_ they were sharing it. And when he sunk his first finger into that tight heat he couldn’t think of any good reason not to be here, sharing this moment with Blake. There was nothing more important in the world than the way Blake gasped into his ear and whispered proclamations of worship to the unseen gods above them, the last lingering truths of heaven on his tongue. Blake was something the prophets spoke of, a being of unimaginable beauty and passion and an insatiable hunger for all things dangerous and wild. A second finger, this one stretching and plundering and lighting the faded sparks of dying stars in Blake’s eyes, the city lights reflecting the distant cosmos in those dark depths, unreachable and uncontainable and all for Bane to hold in two hands and bring back to life with his breath alone. On the third, Blake seized his wrist where it pressed into the mattress next to his head, mouth flung wide with forbidden sacrament and undying devotion not heard for thousands of years, music to Bane’s ears to boil his blood.

“Now,” said Blake, and Bane would refuse him nothing if he only held Bane like this forever, tattooing his shoulders with the imprints of his nails and gasping his name into stale air to give Bane’s heart life, to rediscover places left abandoned inside his chest for centuries on end. On the first thrust Blake’s spine all but snapped in half, his body contorting and stretching so far that Bane feared he had broken him if not for the flexibility he had witnessed in the young man’s bones. He stilled, sweat trickling down his temple to fall to Blake’s chest, his arms moving to cradle Blake’s neck and skull as he lowered onto the man, pausing only long enough to slip a pillow below Blake’s hips. Blake’s legs part further to let him closer and Bane pressed him into the mattress and held him down with his weight alone. He sunk further and further into Blake’s depths and found he never wanted to leave; he hoped Blake would never refuse him this. It was hot and messy and Blake’s breath tickled his ear, and he kissed the tears away from the corner of Blake’s eyes to savour the taste and the knowing that these were not tears of pain alone, but pleasure and happiness and a wholeness that was mirrored in Bane’s own eyes.

“Move,” said Blake, and Bane bowed to his will like a slave to a master without the sting of a whip to persuade him. His hips canted forward smoothly, and soon Blake’s breath turned to gasps and his fingers dug grooves into Bane’s arm and shoulder, his head thrown back and his neck freely bared. Bane left his marks there, not wanting to blemish such perfection but not wanting Blake to forget his presence after they parted. He prayed against the man’s skin and left the rest to the gods, his teeth claiming and his heart full to bursting with love and affection for this creature of heaven presented for his long-neglected sacrifice. His hand cupped the back of Blake’s neck, the other resting under his hips, moving Blake up to his thrusts and feeling the heat of his body. He sucked his passion to bloom like purple and blue blossoms just beneath the skin and Blake, in turn, clamped his legs around Bane’s back like a vice, a snake coiling around its perfectly willing prey.

They found completion in each other’s arms, hearts racing and pressed against each other, pulse felt under fingertips and teeth and tongues, and when Blake moaned like he tasted wine after years of thirst the feeling was echoed in Bane’s lungs, his throat burning with the need to voice his own satisfaction. Their blood sang sweetly as they caught their breath, and after a moment Blake pushed at Bane’s side so he would roll instead of crushing him further. Bane did as he was bid, taking Blake with him and returning them to their previous positions. Blake curled up over his side against again, hands rubbing slow circles into Bane’s chest as Bane’s fingers trailed through the man’s hair. Blake’s cum was sticky between them, spread over both their stomachs and quickly rubbing onto Bane’s hip from their proximity, but Bane didn’t have the heart to stand and retrieve a towel to clean them both off. It would have to wait until morning.

Blake pushed himself up and kissed Bane one last time, sated by their earlier passion and therefore less demanding than usual. “Thank you,” he said, and it would have been awkward if he meant for the sex, but Bane assumed he meant for coming to see him, to comfort him. Bane didn’t know what the proper response to that was, so he just kissed the man again and laid his head back down. He listened to Blake fall asleep and dozed off to thoughts of an unobtainable future with the precious man in his arms.


	7. I'm Losing My Breath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow remember when regular updates on this fic were a thing? orz please forgive the delay of the final chapter.

Bane woke when the sun was barely rising, the ceiling above him a pale grey in the low light. He blinked a few times, stretching his muscles by tensing and relaxing his arms and legs, and turned his head. Blake slept on his side, his mouth parted and his breathing shallow. Bane stared at him, tempted to reach out and touch him, to disturb his sleep if only to see those eyes upon him before he had to leave. But he let Blake sleep, rolling out of bed and dressing in silence. He almost stepped on the bottle of lube where it had fallen on the floor during the night, then placed it back in the drawer of Blake’s nightstand. There was a pen and a pad of paper practically calling out to him, so he wrote a note and left it on Blake’s nightstand, voicing his regret at his early departure and promising to see Blake that evening if the police department didn’t call him away. His hand hesitated at the end, unsure whether the use of “love” would be an appropriate closing. Doubting Blake would mind, he used it anyway.

He locked the door behind him and made his way out into the brisk morning. Fall was out in full force in Gotham city, and with it came a cold air that crept into every one building and every sore joint in the northern hemisphere. Bane wasn’t not completely immune to the weather, his injuries acted up more often in the colder climates of the world. He tucked the collar of his jacket up against the wind and made his way to Talia’s apartment building, unafraid of any thugs who thought he was another scared politician to be bullied. The streets were empty of cars in a way a city could only be early in the morning when the smartest people were still asleep. Bane was, obviously, not one of those smart people.

Talia’s apartment building was always warm and always brightly lit, reminding Bane much of the woman who lived on the top floor all by herself. They had assured her such luxury when she arrived on the East coast, set on taking the US by storm, and Bane never regretted shelling out the extra cash from League funds to guarantee her space and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the Gotham Bay and the sunrise. He keyed himself into her penthouse apartment and came face to face with such a view, suddenly struck with the beauty of the colouring sky even above a city of filth. If he only angled himself more towards the south, he would be able to spot the church next to Blake’s own modest apartment where he had walked from. But thinking of Blake and thinking of the rottenness of Gotham’s core in the same span felt wrong, like a betrayal of something holy, so Bane didn’t cast his eyes over the south running streets like he wanted.

“You’re up early,” said Talia, from somewhere behind him. Bane turned to face her. She wore silky pajamas and held a cup of coffee to her lips, smiling at him from behind the lip of the mug. “You look exhausted,” she added.

“I slept very well,” he said, but did not elaborate on how much slept he actually missed.

“Join me for breakfast?” she asked, knowing full well that he would not feel comfortable eating in front of her. Such a gruesome sight was not meant for her eyes, and seeing it would at the very least drum up painful memories for her about the Pit.

He nods in agreement, moving to sit with her at the small table in her kitchen. Her apartment is a lovely one, and Bane would have liked to enjoy her presence to the fullest extent like he normally would but… something felt off. There was something hanging in the air above them, something he wasn’t keen on addressing. Truthfully, he wouldn’t even know where to start in the first place. Meanwhile, Talia cut into her eggs neatly, her apple slices ignored on the edge of her plate. Bane’s eyes narrowed in on her hands and, where he would have found rage before, he felt a vague sense of shock. Talia had long since become her own woman, out from underneath any man’s control or concerns, and yet to see the bruises on her wrists leaves Bane’s mind stuttering to a stop.

“I believe we are clear to continue to the next step in our plans. Ms. Selina Kyle has agreed to lead Bruce Wayne into the tunnels in exchange for a clean slate,” said Talia, not noticing that Bane’s eyes are clearly fixed on her wrist.

“Such a thing does not exist,” he managed to croak out, his throat dry suddenly. Talia didn’t seem to notice the roughness in his voice, or perhaps she attributed it to the early hour.

“Our intel suggests that while she may have tried to find it for herself in the past, Ms. Kyle simply does not have the resources to match ours. This is why she believes we are her only way out. I cannot blame her for being desperate, considering her record… still, it seems such a waste. She would have made a half-decent recruit… perhaps we can hire her in the future, if there is anything worth stealing that we cannot simply take for ourselves.”

Bane’s eyes have not left Talia’s wrists, and he would fear being polite if he was not in such familiar company. “Bane?” Talia called, finally noticing his absentmindedness. He swallowed, watching her fingers twist around each other as she grew nervous under his scrutiny, betraying her young age. “Bane, you’re starting to worry me.”

“What… happened to your wrists?” he asked, finally letting go of the sight to meet her eyes. Emotions flicked over her face, her expression shifting from worry to shock to smugness.

“Do you like them? They’re gifts from Bruce,” she said, so calmly, and protectiveness begins to bubble in his chest. A set of Bruce Wayne’s fingerprints sit pressed neatly into her skin. The man will pay for this, and Bane will take out his guilt on the man. He never should have let Talia take on the Batman alone, even when he was not in a mask. Bane knew the man was dangerous and yet he let Talia have her way.

“His hands circle the bone so perfectly; I can’t wait until he does it again. It takes very little begging on my part, I do believe our Bruce has a bit of a kink,” said Talia, and Bane blinked back into focus on the present.

“What?” said Bane, now lost.

Talia laughs, her head tipping back and her eyes on him now, fond. “Oh Bane, my protector, you were so ready to find him, weren’t you? No, in this, my consent was freely given. While not my first choice in partners, Mr. Wayne is a satisfactory lover.”

“I don’t understand,” said Bane, eyes once again on her wrists. He watched her fingers trace the stark marks with a sick sense of pride.

“No matter,” said Talia, “your time for revenge will come soon enough. Ms. Kyle will lead the Batman to you tomorrow night, you will fight him in the sewers, like we planned. I have already given Barsad orders to prepare, and with him taking care of the others I doubt you will need much time for personal preparation. I trust you’ll be ready?”

Bane frowned, the expression only visible in his brow. “You… let him do this to you.”

“Yes,” said Talia, her fondness giving way to exasperation. “This should come as no surprise to you, it was the plan all along.”

“You…”

“I slept with him,” she said, frowning at him. “A mere destination after months of navigating his damaged intimacy.”

“Why would you do this?” he said, and Talia stood, frustrated enough with his thick-headedness to let her silverware clatter to her plate, food forgotten.

“Did you truly not think this is where it would end? I was to use my body and my charms to weaken Bruce Wayne’s resolve, to weaken his mind, to make him all the more breakable for you. I thought my intimacy was at the very least _implied_ , if not completely expected.” At Bane’s hurt expression, Talia continued, enraged. “Do not act like your mission was any different from my own! Our sins are the same, we should be judged the same. I seduced Bruce Wayne, just as it was your job to seduce John Blake. Both missions were successful, and both men have been turned against each other. This was the _plan,_ Bane.”

It had never hit Bane that while he was widdling away at Blake’s resolve, Talia would be doing the same, that she would let Wayne… touch her in such a way. “You gave away something precious,” said Bane, because all at once it feels like he has let down the very child he fought to protect, watched her lose her innocence in the worst of ways.

“My bed has been warmed before, and it will again,” she said. “I have no time for misconceptions about female sexuality, nor for your misplaced feelings of entitlement to my body and the choices I make using it.”

He stood to match her posture, fighting to keep the anger from his voice. “Your father-”

“You are not my father, Bane!” said Talia, chest heaving with her rebellion.

They stared at each other.

He could see the youth on her face, the anger in her eyes. Bane could barely understand how their conversation had ended up so twisted. He sat back down, giving her control over the conversation once again. She watched him, her passion unbridled yet guarded, as if Bane was someone she could not trust. Bane’s chest ached at the thought that it might be true in her mind.

“You are not my father,” she said, repeating herself for his clarity, or maybe her own. She glanced down to her feet, perhaps trying to judge her next words. “And you’ve changed in these past months. You are not… the man I brought to Gotham with me, the man I trusted with my father’s legacy. Your eyes have been clouded.”

Her words echo Barsad’s and Bane can’t believe the juxtaposition. Who is he to believe?

“It was a mistake to task you to corrupt Blake. He has corrupted you the same, and I have lost a brother, a friend,” she said.

“It is not Blake’s fault,” said Bane, but Talia scoffed outright, leaving him stunned.

“Do you think I cannot see it? I may have had my attentions on Wayne but I am not oblivious. You’re in love with him,” said Talia, and it struck Bane like a fist. He stared at her, desperate to believe she was lying, desperate to believe his own feelings didn’t run that deep.

“I’m sorry,” he said, but she did not hear him.

“You will have time to overcome this lapse in judgement,” she said.

“I… don’t understand,” he said again, something he had been repeating too many times this morning. Did Talia think that Bane would throw Blake aside for the mission? That _was_ what Bane would have done in the past, if by some strange turn of events he had even arrived at this emotional crossroads earlier in his life.

“I will forgive you, the League will forgive you. In the coming months you will have ample opportunities to publicly denounce his damning presence in your life. Gotham will forever remember you as the beast who broke the Bat, not the man who betrayed his brothers for a whore.”

“You wish for me to dispel him from my life,” he said, “to ignore any voice but your own.” It was a bold statement, and Talia’s eyes widened at the blatant disrespect of her authority and their close relationship.

“I can see you are angry,” she said, “but do you honestly think you have choice? How much longer can you keep up the ruse of Antonio Dorrance? It’s exhausting, isn’t it? I know it is. And what other options do you have? Do you wish to tell him who you really are, don your mask and hope he does not run away from the monster you’ve shown him? Bane, my love, you must know he’d never want to see you again.” Her words are said gently at the end. There is a firm edge to her voice, one that reminds Bane of her father. It makes him feel very small, something he had foolishly believed he had outgrown, overpowered, left for dead. It comes roaring back to life, reminding him he is at her mercy, and without her his life would have been meaningless right from the start.

“I understand,” said Bane, even though he didn’t, not fully, “I will… deal with the problem.”

Talia’s expression softened and if she had been standing closer this might have been when she touched a gentle hand to his shoulder of his cheek. “Break up with him, even though it will hurt. Come back to me when you’ve focused again.”

“And break the Batman tomorrow night,” he said, just to please her. The victory holds only a shallow weight within him now.

“Yes,” she said, and smile at him fondly, “I know your strength, you will recover from this and I will welcome you back with open arms, as will the League.”

He bowed his head in respect as she left, leaving her plate on the table to be taken care of by the help. He stared at the food for a few minutes before slowly rising to his feet, like a great mountain coming to life, and took the dishes to the kitchen. Washing them in the sink was soothing even if he could barely feel the heat of the soapy water swallowing his hands whole. After setting them to dry, Bane left.

He had no idea where he was supposed to go, so he walked back to Blake’s apartment, noting barely an hour had passed since he greeted Talia. There was a chance Blake was still home and Bane wanted his silent companionship as he worked through the problem in his head. Blake opened the door immediately. So trusting.  

“Mr. Dorrance,” said Blake, closing and locking the door behind him. “I wasn’t expecting you back so soon,” he admitted, and Bane paused in the middle of his small living room, considering his next words.

“Sorry for intruding,” Bane signed, suddenly aware that he should have picked up something for breakfast, or at least coffee. “Let me make you breakfast.”

Blake nodded, still hovering at the door. Bane folded his coat over the back of the couch and rolled up his sleeves, leaving Blake to his own ministrations. He might have interrupted some sort of morning routine, after all. Blake returned to the bathroom, where the lights flickered briefly, and then closed the door. The shower turned on a few minutes later, and Bane was left to his thoughts.

Barsad would know what to do, Bane knew that much. Problem was, he feared Barsad’s answer. It was only logical for Bane to let Blake go and continue with the mission as planned. But where Bane was once confident in his strength of will, the toughness of his own heart, and his ability to remain above his baser desires, now he faltered. When this all started he had thought it would be a good way for him to dabble in the world of normalcy but he had also thought –foolishly—that he could test the waters without actually getting wet. Instead, Bane hadn’t noticed the waves lapping at his waist nor the gentle, slippery hands guiding him to deeper waters until he was forced to tread to keep breathing. Was this where he would duck his head below the surface and see the wonders hidden beneath?

Or was this where the tide overtook him and filled his lungs one last time, an aching replacement for the breath he truly needed?

Would Blake be his air or his anchor?

The bathroom door opened and Bane glanced over his shoulder, ignoring the eggs bubbling in the pan in favour of meeting Blake’s eyes. Blake’s skin was tinted from the heat of the shower and his hair was disheveled, his towel hanging around his neck. Bane felt fondness thump loud in his chest, sounding suspiciously like his very heartbeat, and turned the stove heat down low before stepping away and meeting Blake halfway. If nothing else, he wished to kiss the man before his day was further ruined.

“Eat,” he signed, smiling, “and then I want to kiss you senseless.”

Blake’s face erupted into emotion, casting a light so bright Bane was almost tempted to look away, and the man laughed heartily as he grabbed Bane’s hand and led him to the food. Blake didn’t offer to share, of course, but he did push his food around his plate, more interested in sitting in Bane’s lap and kissing any spare skin he could find. Bane huffed, the best he could do with both his hands holding Blake safely in place, and didn’t fight the grin that broke out underneath his scarf.

“I wasn’t expecting you to leave so early,” said Blake, but his easy posture didn’t change nor did his gentle tone. “I’m glad you came back though,” he added, popping a bit of toast in his mouth and kissing Bane square between the eyebrows as he chewed.

Signing with one hand was incredibly stunted but Bane managed to shift most of Blake’s balance to his left arm and sign out an answer. “I found it harder to stay away than… I anticipated,” he signed, and Blake cocked his head to the side.

“Your note did say you’d text me later. I’m assuming you didn’t mean to come back today,” he said. “The note _was_ a nice thought, I appreciated it,” said Blake and Bane watched the tips of his ears turn red. Bane laughed, all breath and no sound, and Blake squirmed when Bane’s shaking body affected his seating arrangement. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, I was just trying to be nice asshole.”

Bane pressed his face to the nape of Blake’s neck and exhaled, expelling heat to the skin there. He shifted and picked Blake up, disregarding the plate for now, and carried Blake to his small couch. Blake curled up with him, their legs entwined, and Bane’s hands refused to stop moving, touching every bit of the man he could reach. Blake didn’t seem to mind, humming contentedly and making no move to start a conversation or find something else to do. He took to watching Bane’s face as Bane watched his own hands, fascinated with the heat of Blake’s skin beneath his questing fingertips yet ever mindful of the eyes on him.

Bane heaved a great sigh, knowing he was merely putting off the inevitable. Blake only raised an eyebrow and waited, patient. “Something’s on your mind,” he said, and Bane nodded in concession. Blake paused, glanced away, then met Bane’s eyes again. “Is it us?”

Bane blinked, aware that his actions for the day –leaving before Blake awoke, returning but not making much conversation, and touching Blake so reverently—could be taken with a heavy heart. He shook his head, quick to assuage Blake’s no doubt intrusive thoughts. He wished to speak, to cast away the veil of deception, and yet his throat caught as if truly ruined by some tragic accident hidden by thin scarves. Instead, Bane fell back on his hands, which had never failed him, had never trembled so much to leave his grip too weak to be useful. Where his spirit failed, his body would not.

“I love you,” he signed, slowly to make sure Blake could read it. Blake stared, silent, and Bane recognized his words held weight and the man would need time to formulate a response that was true to his heart and acceptable for the amount of time that they had known each other. There was also the matter of Blake not actually knowing that much about Bane, or Mr. Dorrance as he knew him, which Bane knew could sound off warning bells in Blake’s mind. Blake was not naïve in this way, Bane had seen his record from the streets and his information about his parent’s death. Trust did not come easily to those who had lost to many and been betrayed by even more.

“Wow,” said Blake, and Bane’s lips quirked, unbidden. At his low huff, Blake blushed all over, perhaps acknowledging how unorthodox his response was. “No, I mean… wow… that’s a lot to take in,” he said. Bane didn’t say anything, his heart still thumping in his chest. “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing! I just wasn’t expecting it…”

“I’m going away soon,” signed Bane, and Blake sat up, apparently more shocked at this news than Bane’s earlier confession. “I wanted you to… know how I feel, before we must be separated.”

“How long will you be gone?” asked Blake, visibly doing his best to hold himself together. Bane reached out to hold his hands and Blake squeezed his fingers, smiling softly at the gesture.

“A few months,” signed Bane, not wanting to lie to this beautiful, trusting man more than he absolutely had to. He was tempted, oh so tempted, to ask Blake to come with him, just to see if Blake would willingly follow him. And then Barsad’s voice rang in his mind, reminding him not to be selfish, not to drag this boy into a war he was not meant for, a conflict he was too good to suffer through. Bane only wanted to keep him safe and yet he doubted his abilities to separate himself even in these beginning stages of the occupation. What did that say about the remaining time in the mission? Besides, Bane knew Blake well enough to know the man would never abandon his city, his home, no matter how corrupted and cancerous it was.

Blake sighed quietly and edged closer. “Thank you for telling me,” he said, and his smile was sad but it was present and Bane loved him for it. How could Blake be so kind while being so wild? Bane pondered, lightly, if those two things were exclusive. Bane wrapped him up in his arms, allowing Blake to straddle his lap and duck his head under Bane’s chin. Blake hummed lightly when Bane took to rubbing his back. “I’m going to miss you so much,” said Blake.

Bane’s hand landed on the back of Blake’s neck, a heavy presence with plenty of implications. But Blake did not balk, nor did he turn the situation around by doing something lewd. He simply kissed the collar of Bane’s shirt and twisted his fingers into the fabric covering his bicep. Bane didn’t need Blake to return his words exactly, the sentiment echoed in the air between them, permeated Blake’s bedsheets in the form of their love making. Bane knew the truth, Blake knew the truth, and neither of them felt pressured to say anything more on the matter.

However, that didn’t stop Blake from rambling. “I suppose you’ll leave soon. That’s what you left for this morning, right?” Bane was struck by Blake’s scrutiny, pride sparking in the back of his throat. “And then you came back quickly… because it would be cheap to text me about it.” Bane nodded, and felt Blake against the hollow of his throat.  

“Is it business? I’m assuming it’s not family or else you wouldn’t be so calm,” said Blake, leaning back to look Bane in the eyes, looking for a story that Bane could not fully tell.

“Business,” signed Bane, then returned his hand to the back of Blake’s neck.

“When will you be leaving?” asked Blake.

“Next week,” signed Bane. Blake’s smile made a valiant effort to make its presence known but it ultimately fell underneath the weight of the man’s sadness. Bane smiled in return, the sadness echoed in the wrinkles around his eyes.

“We’ll spend time together again before then, right?” Bane nodded in response. Still, Blake sighed.

“God am I going to miss you,” he said, and Bane could not agree with the sentiment more. He thought for a moment and then used his grip on the back of Blake’s neck to guide him to the side and onto his back on the couch. Shifting onto his knees, Bane loomed over the man and trapped him in. Blake’s fingernails raked into his biceps before curling around them, a pleased whine rising from Blake’s throat. “This is so unfair,” said Blake, his eyes watery but not quite crying. His otherwise steady voice wobbled. “Why do you have to leave when I’ve just found you?”

Bane did not know the answer to that, even if Talia liked to think she did. He also didn’t know what force of the universe led him to Blake in the first place, regardless of why or when. The occupation of Gotham was Bane’s goal but Blake… Blake was more than just a happy circumstance. Honestly, Bane did not know how easy it would be to let him go, especially with the knowledge that Blake might be killed when the fire rose across Gotham. It was a difficult decision to make and Bane is unsure whether he could have made it without the guiding hands of his brothers to bring him back into the fold.

He would stay with Blake that night, relish in his welcoming body and eager heart. In the morning, he would make his way to the sewers and prepare for his next steps. He would return Blake’s texts and maybe even return to him one last time before saying goodbye for good, leaving on a lie of keeping in touch and returning one day. He would break this man’s heart, break his city and, through the ache in his chest, Bane knew it was time for him to break the Batman.

**Five Years Later**

Arkham Asylum was not a decent place to live. It was dark, cold, and ruthless, same as the pit. It did not compare to the pit in any other way. The floors were too clean, the food too abundant. There were guards who gave a damn what happened and a Warden who actively addressed them as people. Bane had lived in worse places with less freedom but that did not mean he did not miss the outside world.

On some stroke of luck, they put Barsad in here with him. For months, he had no idea. They confined him to solitary and left him to rot for the most part. He was haunted by nightmares of his cell flooding with the tide and once again fighting sharks with his fists just to live to the next day. But the water did not rise and the sounds of crashing waves was only in his head. They called him crazy. He did not speak for those months.

They kept their interaction to a minimum. Barsad kept to himself naturally, as did Bane, and it wass safer not to show the weakness of friendship. They plot. They will get out.

“Bane!” his guard barked. Bane opened his eyes from his daily meditation and stared through the small window to his cell. “You have a visitor.”

“I am not allowed visitors,” said Bane, skeptical and not about to be fooled again. Guards will trick him for fun, he’s found out. Something about his stature led them to assume he was a packaged deal of big and dumb.

“Too fucking bad. Stand up and show a bit of respect,” said the guard. There was a clanking of a door beyond his opening and slamming shut again. Bane stood, reluctantly waiting for a face to appear in the small opening.

Tired brown eyes met his. “I want you to tell me the truth,” said Blake.

“The truth is often not what we’re looking for,” said Bane, his mind otherwise empty for something to say. His chest ached in the way it always did when he thought of Blake.

“Tell me anyways,” said Blake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me through this, guys! Till next time~


End file.
